


one for sorrow, two for joy

by yuyangs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Bride of the Water God Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, author is projecting... like usual, derealisation, poetry as a love language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuyangs/pseuds/yuyangs
Summary: Kiyoomi had never really imagined his wedding as a child but he knows that he would have never imagined it to be like this—in the middle of autumn where the cool air gently caresses his face, his guests looking at him with mirth and relief as they sigh with thoughts of how they’re lucky that he’s the one that’s being married off, he himself not actually knowing what the person he’s marrying looks like.No, not a person.Today, Kiyoomi is marrying a god.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 85
Kudos: 168





	1. harvest moon

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a thing that happened...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people are dying. The people are desperate. A sacrifice is needed.
> 
> “Prince of the Moon,” a woman whispers in his ear. “It’s time to go.”

At Kiyoomi’s wedding, his guests cry tears of joy. He doesn’t cry though. He knows that he’s being used, that he’s being thrown away. 

His hand grips onto the newly sewn hakama, fingers wound so tight that his knuckles turn white. They must think that he can’t hear what they’re saying between the relieved weeping, but he listens. Intently.

“As long as it’s not ours,” one of them says. A woman, older. She wears her hair down, a black waterfall that trails down her back to the floor in an unbound fashion, as if it’s supposed to pool at her feet like a lake.

“The rice better grow after this,” says another voice. A man. He’s tired looking, skin tanned from working in the fields, his body a little frail.

“Do you think this will work?” someone questions. A younger girl. Curiosity gleams in her eyes.

Kiyoomi had never really imagined his wedding as a child but he knows that he would have never imagined it to be like this—in the middle of autumn where the cool air gently caresses his face, his guests looking at him with mirth and relief as they sigh with thoughts of how they’re lucky that he’s the one that’s being married off, he himself not actually knowing what the person he’s marrying looks like.

No, not a person.

Today, Kiyoomi is marrying a god.

If his parents were here, maybe they would be opposed to this, protecting him from the people who ripped his old clothes off his body and stuffed him into something foreign while they called him a different name. This is unheard of; marriage without any exchange in words or wants, but it is a marriage of hope, one meant for the people more than himself. He thinks back to his parents, two persons he’s never really known or has many lasting memories of. 

He grits his teeth.

Maybe they also wouldn’t care either. Maybe they would be happy to receive so much money for their loss. Kiyoomi doesn’t really know what his parents would have thought. Not that it matters anymore. Not at this time. Not at this place. It’s futile to think of the possibilities when the certainty is that his parents are dead and can never be brought back to the land on which he walks, to breathe the air that fills his lungs, or to eat the food the others so desperately crave.

The villagers paid a hefty price to doll him up to be the perfect groom to the god of agriculture. For months, the crops in this small village along the valley haven’t produced so much as a plate’s full. The people are dying. The people are desperate. A sacrifice is needed.

“Prince of the Moon,” a woman whispers in his ear. “It’s time to go.”

Kiyoomi nods before standing up. The robes that he’s wearing are weighing him down, never in his life has he ever worn something so nice. The black fabric of his kimono fits snugly on his body, a crest in the shape of a moon adorned on it, the sleeves almost reaching the floor even when he’s at full height. The robe is wrapped around him, the left side over the right with an obi secured around his waist. It’s not too short, maybe slightly longer than it should be, but Kiyoomi doesn’t remember even owning this much fabric let alone wearing it. It almost makes his shoulders ache.

He turns to the chest with mirrors at the corner of the room and looks at his reflection one more time before he leaves the small wooden house. What he sees is someone he doesn’t recognise—his hair is tamed, the curls that were wild only last week are now tied into a topknot, the loose strands cascade down the sides of his face in waves. There is no light in his eyes, something has dimmed within him. His previously hollowed cheeks are only slightly fuller, almost like they were haphazardly filled recently in an attempt to make him look more presentable, more royal.

The room around him is dark, the sudare blocking off most of the light that would flow from the engawa. Now, there are merely rows of light that heat the floor in lines. In this cramped space, there are maki-e lacquer pieces that bear his crest and the crest of his new partner in gold. Heirlooms that are meant to be passed down. Despite himself, Kiyoomi lets out a huff of laughter. Banners flow down from the ceiling, symbolising an alliance. They fall down in rows, heavy and true in their intent—bars that are meant to cage him for all eternity.

He takes a step forward, looking down at his feet. He has never seen them completely covered like this before. It’s strange. The one time he’s being treated like someone worthwhile, he’s ushered away to a land of the unknown.

There’s a palanquin waiting for him outside. Sleek dark wood, golden trimmed and entirely too expensive for someone like him.

“Your Highness,” one of the carriers lifts his head after giving a low bow. “The sun has risen. We have to go.”

Kiyoomi gives him a curt nod in response, clambers into the small chamber and then he’s off. He slides the window wide open, and looks out towards the fields. It’s brown, uncharacteristic of mid-autumn. The dirt path he’s being carried over is uneven, no major roads connect to it like in larger towns. This small path merely meanders and splinters off into even smaller paths. The green that should be of the paddy fields is no more. It’s all dead now, all rotten plants and murky water that barely reach up to the ankles. From afar, he hears the sound of a crying baby, surely just woken up in hunger with the mother not being able to provide anything to quench their needs. There’s a certain kind of desperation that fills the air, much like the smell of burning logs that still surrounds them after everything succumbs to ash. They need to breathe.

One of the carriers fumbles in his step and Kiyoomi lurches forward, his head banging on the dark wood with a loud thump.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he hears the man call.

“It’s fine,” Kiyoomi says in return, though there is a dull throb on the crown of his head.

It _should_ be fine. But then he hears whispers again. They’re so loud that he wonders if they actually _are_ whispers. Maybe, it’s all a figment of his imagination. But he hears it nonetheless, loud and clear,

“What I’d give to be carried around like a prince.”

The voice is soon hushed by a bodiless murmur. Perhaps it’s another one of his imaginations.

But Kiyoomi knows better. He takes a deep breath, feeling his ribs constrict up and out before finally relaxing. People only wish they were him right now because they don’t know what sort of life he’s lived. It’s a petty thought; a want that forms from the smoke into something bitter in his throat. They think they want this. They think they want to be treated well only to be thrown away. If this doesn’t work, they can always try again. He’s expendable, cannon fodder, unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

Kiyoomi feels the palanquin lower to the ground. He gets out and waits, the river that flows through the valley in front of him.

The village foreman is already there. He’s an old man, the wrinkles on his face is evidence of the once-supple skin that started to sag however long ago that was. He doesn’t smile at Kiyoomi, he merely stares at him, his mouth in a tight line. His eyebrows pinch together above his nose while his nostrils seem to flare. There is nothing that indicates that this man is here to officiate a warm, fall wedding.

The footsteps behind him stop and it tells Kiyoomi that the other villagers have arrived.

As if practiced, the village foreman starts to beam at him, all teeth and crinkled eyes, like Kiyoomi is the proud son that he’s sending off to bigger and better things.

“Today, we celebrate a marriage that will bring peace to our people,” he says before waving his hand towards himself. “Come, Kiyoomi-sama.” The village foreman smiles again, straining at the edges.

Kiyoomi walks to him, towards the banks of the river where a boat is pathetically tied to the small stump that peaks through the pebbles. His robes trail behind him, grazing the shells and the rocks at his feet. Maybe the kimono is longer than he initially thought. 

The village foreman then looks towards the sky. “Great Inari Okami-sama, we offer you the Moon Prince as your groom.” He takes his hand and Kiyoomi has to force himself to not pull it away from the old man’s tight grip. He hates this. He hates the feel of sweaty palms against his own. He hates how this man is pretending like this is a happy moment, like this is what Kiyoomi wanted. “Today, we send off one of our most precious so that you may find each other and the qualms of our peoples will balm.”

Kiyoomi hesitates. If he gets on this boat right now, he might never come back. One way or another, this is it for him. 

The water. He hates it. Memories flash through his head, visions of a smaller child being pulled to the surface, gasping for life. He swallows the lump in his throat and with a shaky breath, he climbs over the boat. He watches as the measly rope gets untied and soon he’s pushed into the river. The currents carry him forward, towards a destination that he has yet to find.

He hears cries. All of them are of joy. No one mourns that he is being sent off to somewhere no human has ever come back from to tell the tale.

“Thank you so much, Kiyoomi-sama!”

“May Inari bless us all!”

“We are in debt to you forever!”

He bites the side of his cheek, hard enough that he draws blood. The taste of warm metal and the pain that comes with it soon engulfs his mouth.

Kiyoomi doesn’t cry. He decided that he wouldn’t so he won’t. Still, it gets hard to breathe, almost like he’s drowning. His breaths come out heavy and wet. He feels submerged.

And then the boat rocks and he’s pulled down into the water.

The heavy robes prove to be useless when Kiyoomi is three feet into the depths of the river. He tries to swim upwards, he tries to claw his way out of a watery grave but he just can’t. Something is pulling at his leg and he sinks lower and lower to the river floor. He feels the pressure of it all. The weight of the water that he should be floating on is now on top of him without any bearings.

He’s trapped now.

_Mother._

His breaths come out heavy and wet.

_Mother, help._

And then he’s pulled out of the water.

A hand grips his forearm and yanks him to the surface. 

Kiyoomi opens his eyes. He’s sitting in a pool of water, no longer in the river that split the land in two. He stands up, the heavy clothes for his wedding are dry and crisp, as if not a single drop of water had fallen on him. He feels a chill run down his spine. This isn’t normal.

“Ah, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get you out in time, that would have been so bad!” a voice says.

And Kiyoomi finally registers the hand that had gripped his arm through his robes. The man it’s attached to is standing in front of him is tall, silver haired but young. He yanks his arm away. There’s a light in this man’s bright eyes. He grins at Kiyoomi easily. He’s the first person to smile at him like he means it today.

“Who are you?” Kiyoomi asks, his voice a little shaky.

“Oh, my name is Bokuto!” the man says before laughing, Kiyoomi doesn’t really know at _what._ “We heard all the commotion down there so Inari sent me to come get you. But I got a little confused at which pool she wanted me to see through. I've never been that good at direction, you see—”

“Wait,” Kiyoomi stops him. “Inari?”

Bokuto blinks as if _he’s_ the one that should be confused. “Why, yes? Inari.”

“It worked?”

The man in front of him tilts his head. “I don’t really get what you mean, but Inari is waiting for you. We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

He follows Bokuto’s lead when the man brings him away from the many pools that litter the grass to the palace courtyard. Kiyoomi has never walked on canopied, cobblestoned paths before, the soft dirt has always been a staple in his everyday life.

There are servants all around, court ladies who wait by doors and eunuchs who hide in the shade of the roof. For all the hustle and bustle, the palace grounds are silent.

The middle building is the largest, steep steps that elevate the already imposing architecture into greater lengths. This is when Bokuto turns around and looks at him a little nervously.

“The court is still in session, but Inari is waiting for you and it’s best to not prolong that. She can get… temperamental…” Bokuto trails off.

As if Kiyoomi didn’t already have an inkling. He’s here in the first place because of her temperament. Still, he climbs up the steps, the heavy fabric is a testament of how nobility is only for those who have people in waiting. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead and neck to his back. It’s exhausting really, but Kiyoomi agreed to this. So he has to see it through till the end.

He stops in front of the large archway of the main court. How is he supposed to enter? Should he be announced? He has no idea how any of this works.

Regardless, he takes a deep breath and steps into the vast open room. The sunlight bathes him in a kind of heat that he doesn’t quite know; searing and strangely comforting all at once. The wooden floors stretch over the sea in front of him, and like the sun that rises above the horizon, there’s a throne at the end of the room and on this throne is a large white fox that’s the size of a carriage. The misu hanging above the throne casts a shadow over the throne, obstructing Kiyoomi’s view—he can’t quite make out the face of this creature but he knows that the fox demands respect. This must be Inari.

Suddenly Kiyoomi feels his body constrict as if his bones have shrunk in size. He feels small, so small in front of such a being. Yet, the others in the room are people. Or they look like people. And these people of certain importance stand in rows on either side, heads bowed as they wait for the fox to speak.

Inari doesn’t speak. She stares at Kiyoomi and now he notices those gleaming amber eyes that are seen so clearly like sparks that fly from the ember on a cold winter night. He can still taste the blood on his tongue and now he wonders if the fox can smell it. Belatedly realising his predicament, Kiyoomi’s body falls to the floor in a haste bow. The sleeves of his kimono cover his hands and somehow, he feels a little grateful that Inari can’t see the many scratches on them, his skin made red and raw from all the abuse he inflicted on himself.

Kiyoomi doesn’t look up, his head remains planted to the floor when he hears a loud thump. Inari has left the throne.

Heavy footsteps resound across the floors of the room, sounds of low pants swirl in the air and Kiyoomi finds his own body trembling, especially when he feels a shadow cast over him.

The panting gets louder and then there's a breath over his head. Inari is sniffing him. The god’s snout travels from his head to his back and then there's an accompanying low growl. Does she hate him?

Carefully, Kiyoomi turns his head to peek at the fox only to be met with large white canines, too close for his comfort. He shuts his eyes again and tries to breathe once more. His breaths are deep and held for a long time, the shadow is still cast over his body and it’s cold like it's night time. He's shivering and his breaths stop.

He tries to inhale slowly from his mouth now, but then he feels the blood trickle down from the inside of his cheek.

It drops onto the floor in a spatter.

He freezes.

She can definitely smell his blood, he knows she can.

But as swiftly as Inari approaches him, she leaves. She doesn’t go back to the throne but instead, heads out towards the courtyard. The court has been adjourned.

The heat of the sun is now on his back, warming up his body and neck, and his cheeks start to flush.

Kiyoomi sits up, his head still bowed low as he grips his newly sewn hakama. The knuckles on his shaking hands turn white.

  
  


* * *

  
  


In his dream, Kiyoomi is ten years old. He’s on the streets of his village and he’s begging for food.

“Please sir,” he cries as his hand clutches onto the man’s outer coat.

It’s nearing winter. At this point, most of the villagers are struggling to even get food on the table in their homes. Why should they help him? There isn’t a good reason to. So when this man pushes Kiyoomi away until his small body stumbles back and falls onto the ground with a hard thud, the rocks scratching at the palms of his hands where he broke his fall, the boy can't even be that angry.

“I have my own to feed. Go find someone else to leech off of,” the man says, pulling his cart away with him.

It’s in a moment of desperation that Kiyoomi decides to go to the woods to find food. He had seen how the older men bring back sika from the forest. He doesn’t expect to find that much food but he could settle for something smaller.

The dead brown leaves crunch under his feet with every step. He really doesn’t even know where he’s going but there has to be something out here that he can eat. He’s so hungry, though. And so tired.

He sits down against a tree, the canopy of leaves shades him from the sun that is directly above his head. It’s cold, much too cold for late fall. Maybe he might die out here.

Kiyoomi knows that he’s being watched over. Mostly, he likes to think it’s his parents. But sometimes he wonders why his parents aren’t beside him in the first place. Are the gods actually cruel in that they’d let a child fend for himself ever since he was four years old?

Kiyoomi should have gone to the river, maybe there are fishes still abound there. But he’s much too scared. After all, his parents never came back from the depths.

His stomach churns loudly and Kiyoomi wants to cry now but crying would waste too much of his energy.

He’s so hungry.

He’s so, so hungry.

Despite everything he believes in, Kiyoomi closes his eyes and prays. He doesn’t know exactly to whom, but he prays to anyone who would listen. He prays for warm, cooked food. He prays for a family who would care for him. He prays for a life better than this one.

He hears a snap of a twig and his eyes snap open in turn. There’s a fox in front of him. A winter fox. A white coat and gleaming orange eyes, eyes that look almost human with the way it registers Kiyoomi and seems to be inspecting his very person. Kiyoomi shuffles back, feeling the press of the hard bark against him. The dogs in the village sometimes chased him around when he got too close to them, so he can’t help but shudder at the thought of what a wild fox would do to him.

But the fox doesn’t do anything, not anything violent that is. The fox steps forwards and nudges Kiyoomi on the shoulder before turning its head as if pointing to something deeper in the forest. Kiyoomi sits still. This is so strange. It’s like the fox is trying to talk to him.

And maybe it is, because it does those motions again and this time, Kiyoomi stands up.

The fox guides him through the thicket, deeper into the heart of the mountain until they’re standing in front of a cottage.

Kiyoomi doesn’t remember much after that. All he remembers is a full belly, a warm fire, sleeping under a blanket for the first time in years.

He later finds out that foxes are the messengers of Inari Okami. He believes that the goddess sent him a guide in an hour of need.

He remembers this when years later, the villagers drag him to a house and start calling him a prince so that he can marry a god.

He remembers this because he knows that above anything else, Inari is kind.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kiyoomi opens his eyes and finds himself in an unfamiliar room. He’s laying in a bed—a _bed_ —there are curtains draped around him in privacy. Despite the cool night breeze of fall, Kiyoomi awoke in a pool of sweat. There’s a discomfort that gnaws on his brain at this, and it’s much too stuffy in the room.

He swings his feet over the bed and pads across the room, carefully opening the heavy wooden door. A slight creak reverberates around and he cringes. Thankfully, it’s too late for there to be anyone here to chastise him for being awake. He just needs some air.

The hallways criss cross around the palace, even if he did get a tour earlier, it’s not like he would have been able to memorise everything at first try. Still, he manages to make his way to the garden with only the moonlight illuminating the path for him. That is, until he catches a warm glow from the corner of his eye. He turns towards the source and sees a man sitting at the patio, a book in hand, a tea set on the table in front of him. Kiyoomi frowns but walks towards the man anyway.

As he inches closer, he notices the short golden hair on his head, hooded eyes that remain focussed on the texts in front of him as his tongue juts out between his pink lips in concentration. Kiyoomi doesn’t know who this man is, he doesn’t recognise him from the court earlier today, but from what he’s wearing alone, Kiyoomi can tell that he’s important—the dark kimono he’s wearing is embroidered with what seems to be golden threads, the fabric falls on his shoulders in a weight that only comes with the best of textiles. And he’s sitting there at the table, with practiced poise, with the grace of someone who was born into a life of greatness.

The man is folding to the next page of the orihon when Kiyoomi speaks, the bleariness of half-sleep slackening the strain on his tongue,

“Who are you?” he asks, the words spill before he can even catch himself. Instantly, he regrets it.

The man looks up and Kiyoomi can see that his eyes are hazel, specks of gold infused within to give them an amber hue. It’s eerie.

“You can call me ‘Atsumu’,” the man says in return. Atsumu smiles at him and it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s easy and distant. Kiyoomi decides that he hates that vagueness.

“Have you seen Inari?”

Atsumu nods slowly, his eyebrows do a quizzical thing. “Yes, but I’m afraid she’s asleep right now. You should go back to sleep too,” he says rather pointedly.

Kiyoomi feels his throat dry. As if he can sleep at such a foreign place with ease. But he can’t admit that now, especially not when he doesn’t even know if he can trust this golden haired man. “I can’t,” he says instead.

“Hm,” the other hums. “Sit down then, Kiyoomi-kun. Have a drink with me. The tea might calm you.”

“I don’t remember ever telling you my name.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in this palace who doesn’t know the name of Inari’s groom, _Omi-kun._ ”

Kiyoomi frowns, feeling the pinch of his eyebrows on his forehead. “That’s not my name,” he hisses.

Again, there’s that smile. Kiyoomi knows when people are pretending to be kind to him, charlatans of the mind, but this man isn’t pretending to be kind. No, he’s actively mocking him and it makes something twist in Kiyoomi’s stomach.

But Atsumu pours him a cup and Kiyoomi does end up taking a seat, drinking it in silence.

He doesn’t want to admit it but the other was right about it calming his nerves. It soothes him, but only just. Because now that his muscles have loosened, tears that threatened to push through finally break through the dams. He wonders how he looks right now; under the cast of the moon, the lantern beside them colliding in colour. He wonders how he looks as tears stream down his cheeks and a heavy breath leaves his lips. He wonders how he looks with his hair disheveled as his eyes dart around the garden, afraid of listening ears despite there clearly only being the two of them here. 

The wound inside his mouth still stings.

Pathetic.

If Atsumu thinks so, he doesn’t say so, nor does he comfort Kiyoomi when he cries silently. Instead, he just sits there, far too close and much too far away, not looking at him or touching him. Atsumu’s head turns towards the night sky, his book has long since been forgottened. In many ways, that in itself is a form of comfort.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, Your Highness.”

He’s right, the moon _is_ beautiful tonight. Full, luminous and true. The kind of moon that reveals more than it conceals. Atsumu eyes flit back to him and Kiyoomi meets his gaze. Kiyoomi sees sympathy swimming in those eyes. If it weren’t for that look, Kiyoomi might say that he wants Atsumu here, just for tonight. A brief thought of how this was all a mistake chances through his mind and the tears come back in full force once more.

Kiyoomi doesn’t do things that he doesn’t want to do, but now he wonders if this was truly the _right_ thing for him to do. What other choice did he have? He knows that all he can do now, is see it through until the end. Even if it hurts.

This is how Kiyoomi spends his first night as the groom of a god; he cries in the presence of a stranger as the moon above them shines a blue light over the black ripples of tea in his cup. By the time he takes another sip, it has already turned cold.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said i wouldn't write until my finals are over and... here i am being an idiot.
> 
> please yell at me to get off of [twitter](https://twitter.com/atsumu_twt), i need to study...


	2. waning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realisation hits him with the force of a meteor that claims contact with the earth and Kiyoomi sits up from where he had been laying in his bed.
> 
> Perhaps this is his price to pay for that kindness.

It’s early morning when the court session begins and according to Bokuto, Kiyoomi has been granted permission to observe this time. It’s different to be standing here on the other side of the room; it feels much more real, too grandiose for someone of his stature. But he is a prince today so he must play his part.

Inari still hasn’t spared him a glance since their first meeting. He doesn’t really know what marriage to the god actually entails but for the most part, he’s been left alone. He wonders what Inari gets out of accepting these sacrifices when she acts like he doesn't even exist.

Kiyoomi is turning all the possible outcomes in his head when he hears a man speak, bringing everything in his head to a screeching halt,

“Inari Okami-sama, there are still cries from below. What should we do about it?”

His head snaps towards Inari who continues to pay him no mind and stares ahead at the man who had spoken. The piercing gaze seems to set him on fire with how the man starts to sweat profusely.

 _Cries from below?_ Kiyoomi thinks, _Has nothing been resolved?_

As if to answer his question, the man continues. “A few days have passed now, and their cries are louder than before. What should we do?” he asks rather nervously.

And Inari, in all her revered greatness, huffs out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. It sounds like she's saying, _Why should I help them?_

“Inari-sama, please.”

And then, a voice resounds around the room, feminine, low and angry. “They ask for my help yet fail to help their own. Why should I gift them food when they take and take and take, and then leave others starving? If they want my kindness, I expect kindness to be returned.”

Kiyoomi’s stomach drops to the floor. He can't believe what he's hearing right now.

“Inari-sama—”

“Inari.”

The name slips past his lips before Kiyoomi can stop himself and then suddenly, all eyes are on him, including the eyes of the god that he married.

“I—”

“Kiyoomi-kun,” the fox says, looking at him with those amber eyes as if he is something to be inspected. Like she's watching for a bead of sweat or a hitch of breath to prove that Kiyoomi is just measly human. A dark expression falls on her face. “I don’t think I ever gave you permission to _speak_ in this court.”

Suddenly, he feels parched, as if he had just ran a mile and back. 

“I apologise,” he says with his head bowed low.

When the session moves forward again, he still feels lingering eyes on him. Whether those eyes are from beside him, Kiyoomi ignores the sensation. Instead he stares down at his feet, the socks that cover them are as white as they were nights before. 

He wonders where that strange man is now. He said his name was Atsumu. He seemed important enough and yet he's nowhere to be seen in this court.

But those thoughts quickly leave his mind when someone with fiery orange hair speaks in a _very_ loud voice.

“Inari-sama!” he announces as if the room hasn’t been dead silent for the past hour or so between speakers. “I would like to report on recent happenings.”

It’s only hours later when the court has adjourned that Inari turns to him again. There’s a look in her eyes, almost sympathetic by nature. Maybe she realises her faults. Maybe she just feels sorry for him at the end of the day. Regardless of what it is, it makes Kiyoomi want to scream.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says before finally making her way out. But Kiyoomi can’t let this go. So he chases after her.

It’s difficult with the extra weight of his sokutai, the layers and layers of fabric make it hard to move and breathe for that matter. He struggles to reach her at first, especially when she only needs a few wide steps to leave the room. But Kiyoomi catches up to her anyway.

“Wait!” he says, a little louder than necessary and he cringes at his fumble. The white fox freezes in her movements and turns to him, a blank expression on her face. He gives her a short bow before speaking again. “Why haven’t you done anything yet?” he asks.

She doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t need to. Kiyoomi knows that she’s saying: _why should I?_

Kiyoomi looks down, suddenly nervous at the weight of her stare. It’s terrifying. “They—the people need your help,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster when he’s being stared down by such a being. He clenches his fist, pressing crescent moons into the flesh of his palm. “They’re desperate for your help. That’s why—that’s why _I’m_ here.”

Still, she says nothing and Kiyoomi starts to feel nervous again. Inari can just throw him away if she wants to. She doesn’t need him nor does she even seem to want him around. If anything, he’s just an added annoyance to her daily life.

There’s a stinging pain on his hand now. He looks down and sees that he's been scratching it again. It's red and raw and utterly disgusting.

When he looks up, he sees that Inari has been watching him.

“I know why you’re here.” She turns away. “Is that all?”

At this, Kiyoomi feels something rise from his stomach. Acidic and bitter. Perhaps it’s bile. “You—” he huffs. This isn’t the same Inari he knew as a child. This is someone different. “If you want to be cruel, then just be cruel. Don’t confuse me with wanton acts of kindness.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kiyoomi regrets it.

If he’s being honest, he regretted the words as soon as he said them. He’ll definitely be thrown away now and it annoys him to no end that he could be so foolish as to let his tongue loose as if he knew who she was. Inari probably had a reason. But still, he can't imagine the desperation of the villagers now.

He hates them.

He hates them so much. So much so that he might have wished them dead when he was younger. But his mind still lingers on that morning he was thrown away. When he heard that cry of a baby past sunrise, he knew that cry all too well. He had been in the same position before; starving with no light to shine on his life. It was all a seemingly dark cave and all he could do was go through it. He tripped over the rocks and fell and stumbled his way through. He blamed all the people who never rationed out the food equally. He hates those people even now.

But there are innocents who live in that small, failing village. Innocents who have no means of escape.

Kiyoomi was lucky in that Inari sent him a blessing as a child. He’s grateful for that and he'll always be in debt to her.

But her indifference to human life shocked him. He didn’t think there was a price that needed to be paid for her kindness.

A realisation hits him with the force of a meteor that claims contact with the earth and Kiyoomi sits up from where he had been laying in his bed.

Perhaps this is _his_ price to pay for that kindness.

And then he hears knocking on the door and his body goes rigid.

His ears must be playing tricks on him, Kiyoomi _never_ has any visitors. But then after a few moments, the raps continue, this time a little louder, with a little more force, like the person on the other side wouldn’t even stop to think about the consequences of eventually pounding on the wood.

Before that can happen, Kiyoomi makes his way to the door and when he opens it, he comes into view of one fiery haired man. It’s the same man from yesterday’s court. He’s still dressed in his maroon sokutai, the panels sewn tightly, which tells Kiyoomi that he just left the court. The man is much shorter than Kiyoomi initially thought now that he’s standing right in front of him.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet,” the orange haired man says as he waltzes into the room like he owns the place. He sits on the cushion at the low table on the floor and beams at him once he's comfortable. “I’m Hinata Shouyou!”

A pause. “Kiyoomi.”

“Oh, I know! I don’t think anyone doesn’t know, actually,” Hinata says, a hand coming up to his chin in seemingly deep thought. “I thought I should check up on you since your absence this morning.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I don’t know you, though.”

“Well, yes. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Kiyoomi really doesn’t understand this man's thought process. “Okay,” he says. Not really wanting to start a whole debate, Kiyoomi sits down across from him.

“Actually,” Hinata starts. “That was a lie.”

Kiyoomi quirks up an eyebrow at this.

“Inari told me to check up on you,” Hinata explains. “Actually, it was more like she said she wanted to send someone and I volunteered.”

He feels his frown deepening. There are probably creases forming on his forehead now. “I didn’t think she would care.”

And Hinata laughs at him. “Oh, Inari cares quite a lot. She has always been benevolent.”

Her refusal at feeding people didn’t seem benevolent to him.

But Kiyoomi must have said it out loud because Hinata shakes his head. “No, there are cheers today. I heard them from below. I think it’s safe to assume that it was all resolved last night. She had planned to do it for days now anyway.”

At this, Kiyoomi is speechless.

As if sensing Kiyoomi’s flurry of questions, Hinata continues. “She can be quite scary, I know. But there are lessons to be had with people who are selfish. The people weren’t starving because of Inari, they were starving because of thievery among themselves which Inari then punished them for. Inari may be temperamental but she’s not unreasonable, which is why she feeds them now.”

Relief washes over him but it’s soon squashed when another feeling brews in his stomach.

“Then,” he starts, “Inari never really needed a sacrifice to begin with?”

Hinata tilts his head at this, confused. “Why does that matter?”

“Well, I’m here for that reason, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but why does it matter? The reason why you’re here bears no weight next to the fact that you _are_ here.” Hinata shrugs. “Sometimes, you just have to live with it.”

Kiyoomi takes in the words said by a man that doesn’t look to be too far in age with himself, yet he seems so much older and wiser. So he asks, “How old are you, Hinata-san?”

“I’m the youngest here, around five hundred years old. I stopped counting after the two hundred mark. They call me ‘the baby’ sometimes, not that I mind though,” he answers with a smile. “And just Hinata is fine!”

All of a sudden, his head spins. Kiyoomi really shouldn’t be surprised but to find out that ‘the baby’ of Takamagahara is still centuries older than him has him feeling faint. He almost curses out in shock, proud that this time, he manages to hold his tongue back.

Hinata continues to chatter on, “It’s always interesting when new people show up! No one ever really comes here and everyone just knows everyone and it gets so boring sometimes.”

_Everyone knows everyone?_

“Hinata,” Kiyoomi starts. “Do you know someone named Atsumu?”

Something shifts in Hinata’s eyes. The name registers instantly and the other man nods, albeit slowly, like he’s wondering if it’s a trick question. “Well, of course I do.”

“Who is he?”

“Ah, so you’ve met him, huh? Atsumu-san is really funny!”

That doesn’t really answer his question but Kiyoomi concedes. Instead, he goes for another question.

“He seemed to be familiar around here when I spoke to him a few nights ago.”

Hinata nods. “Yeah, he knows the grounds really well.”

“He seemed really important from what I saw. Is he close to Inari?” Kiyoomi finishes.

The man in front of him hums. “Well, I guess you could say that. Around here, his word is the same as Inari's.” Hinata smiles at him again.

 _Their words bear the same weight,_ is what Kiyoomi hears, though the words are left unsaid.

That’s how important Atsumu is.

Kiyoomi had thought that dealing with one temperamental god was difficult enough but now he has to deal with her right hand man who was just as difficult as he was insulting the first time they met. Nights before, he was somewhere between aggravatingly annoying and strangely comforting. It made Kiyoomi feel strange, like that chord pulled taut around his wrists, keeping him on a leash, was somehow loosening, unraveling even. It’s best to avoid such a tempestuous being.

Kiyoomi can’t help but think about how obstacles keep propping up as if to say that his life is doomed for inconvenience.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kiyoomi has never really understood what it means to be the Prince of the Moon. It wasn’t a title he was born with, it was something that was thrust upon him only a week prior to his marriage to the mysterious goddess.

But the stories of the Moon Prince live on in the hearts of the people of his village. The story goes like this: the Prince of the Moon is a being, not human nor god, who was sent from the heavens as a blessing to the people. This prince was born in a forest of bamboo, not unlike the one Kiyoomi found himself in when he was a child. This prince has as many riches as emperors and is as kind as the most pious of man. But this prince is hidden away, lost somewhere in the heart of the forest that covers the mountains around them.

Over time, the stories became legend and the legends became myth, but the name still remains.

Once a generation, Inari takes on a sacrifice. The temperament of the goddess means that sometimes there is famine where there is no drought. Sometimes, both happen at the same time. This year was no different. She must have been angered somehow.

There was a whisper he heard as a child, that the goddess is in search of something—of family was the most common thing that was said in low voices and in front of put out embers. And he’s here now, binded to Inari like family, and yet she doesn’t look for him nor look at him any time they’re in the same room. Once again, he wonders what she’s getting out of this.

Where his mind wanders, his body wanders too.

It’s dark tonight, the waning moon is partly covered by tumultuous clouds. He wonders if a storm is coming. It’s strange to think that storms happen in the heavens as well. But it has been long since the last time he’s chanced on a storm.

At the garden is a pond that he didn’t notice the last time he was here. There are flowers around too. White and closed like it was sworn to secrecy when it was first budding from the stems. He walks closer to them, inspecting these strange flowers. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen them before in his life.

“They’re called _gekka bijin,_ ” a voice behind him says. “The beauty under the moon.”

Kiyoomi turns around and finds himself face to face with the person he decided to avoid. Atsumu. 

Atsumu continues on with his explanation, “Usually, they bloom during the summer at night. These ones are quite late.” There’s a shift in the air as Atsumu walks closer. Despite the cool late autumn breeze that previously blew in his hair, there’s something infinitely warmer now that Kiyoomi can’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps it’s the intensity of Atsumu’s gaze as he walks towards him. The man’s hands reach out towards the stems, lightly grazing his fingers over them. “They’re known to bloom only once a year. I wonder why these ones just won’t seem to.”

Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi now, a sad smile on his face. He hears a voice.

_Inari is temperamental._

He wonders if he’s being blamed now—for Inari’s apparent sadness. It’s not fair. Kiyoomi hasn’t even done anything.

“I—” he starts before getting immediately cut off.

“No matter. The flowers will wilt before dawn anyway.” Atsumu turns his attention back to those flowers. There’s a small tug on the corner of his lips, almost like he’s forcing himself to suppress a frown. “Maybe you’ll get to see it one day, Your Highness. In full bloom.”

Kiyoomi hates this. This overfamiliarity, this thought of a future plan between them. It feels venomous, like a snake had slid through the gaps between the flowers and bit him on the leg. And then venom courses through him, one with his blood, pumping through his veins, irrational and red. Who is this? And how dare he?

“Atsumu, what are you doing here?” Kiyoomi asks, the bite poorly concealed.

Atsumu lifts his eyebrow at this. “I could ask you the same thing, Omi-kun. Why do you wander the grounds at night?” And then he smirks at him, amused and _evil._ “Were you perhaps looking for me?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes grow wide before he scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps. “I don’t even know you.” It feels like drums are being beaten by his ears despite the soft thrumming of his heart. He tries to quiet it, hoping that Atsumu won’t catch him.

The other smiles though, a warm glint in his eyes. “That can change though, Omi-kun.”

“Can you stop calling me that?” he sighs, tired of this conversation already.

Atsumu shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I quite like that name. It makes you more approachable.”

“So you make fun of me instead?” He turns away.

A laugh rings in his ears. “I would call it _teasing._ There’s a distinction, see. The latter is much more friendly.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I don’t recall ever wanting to be friends with you.”

“Oh, but I know you do. If you didn’t, you would have left a long time ago.”

The heavy clouds part, and moonlight shines upon them. There it is, between them, a truth that the moon uncloaks.

Kiyoomi lifts his eyes now, meeting the gaze of the other. “I don’t think we should keep meeting like this,” he whispers. It’s fragile, delicate, a thread that seams through his kimono.

“Meeting like what?” Atsumu asks.

“At night, just the two of us, like it’s supposed to be a secret. It’s dangerous.” _It’s uncomfortable,_ he wants to say. The way his heartbeat speeds up at the sight of this familiar face is uncomfortable. Where the man was a source of solace before, suddenly the thought of meeting him is distressing.

“I don’t think it is, though.”

“Wouldn’t Inari be upset?” Kiyoomi covers a hand with the other and feels the course skin. It’s irritating. So much so that he feels an itch.

At this, Atsumu lets out a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you cared.”

“Of course I do,” Kiyoomi says. He’s nervous now, his every word could incriminate him. “I’m her husband.”

The glint in Atsumu’s eyes diminishes, out of realisation perhaps. But then, his gaze falls downwards, tracing the movement of Kiyoomi’s fingers.

“Omi,” Atsumu says, voice suddenly low. There’s a crease in his forehead. “Your hands.”

Sometimes, Kiyoomi doesn’t feel like an actual person. He seems to peer at his own body from afar, not registering what he does to himself. It’s like he’s floating in the nothingness, his soul ripped from his body. His surroundings lose colour and all that he’s left with is a shadow, one that mirrors the veil that engulfs his head. Many times, he’s wondered if the river he drifted on was the Sanzu no Kawa. He wonders about the weight of his offenses. Because none of this feels real. Not the itch, not the scratching, not Atsumu’s worried look. So when Kiyoomi’s eyes lower to where Atsumu is looking, it doesn’t process until moments later that what he’s looking at is his own hands. And then there’s the shame that comes with it—it bleeds through like the blood that seeps into his kimono. It’s red and raw, the feeling of his skin being pulled back to reveal his flesh and the sins that come with it.

Any attempt to hide them is quickly thwarted as Atsumu grabs his wrist before he could even move them. The man inspects his hands, eyes blown wide at their callousness. His mouth in a tight line when he sees the way Kiyoomi’s recent itch has started to bleed.

“What. Happened.” The words come out vexed, said between heavy heaves.

Panicked, Kiyoomi’s eyes dart anywhere else around the room. He’s about to get a beating. He knows it. “I, I’m sorry.”

The grip Atsumu has on him loosens and then in a softer voice, “No, Omi. Don’t apologise for this. I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t notice it earlier.” Though his hand falls, Atsumu still holds him through the fabric of his robes. It’s firm, grounding, heavier than anything he’s ever known. His soul floats back into his body, telling Kiyoomi that he hasn’t crossed that river yet. It’s warm in the coolness of fall. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

He brings Kiyoomi around the palace, the labyrinth of the halls doesn't seem to faze him with the way he moves around in the criss crosses with ease. They end up in an apothecary of some sorts, drawers of medicine line the back wall, a table in the center with instruments that Kiyoomi has never seen before.

Atsumu sets Kiyoomi down on a stool and rummages through the drawers. The drawers pull open and snap shut in loud crashes that echo through the room until it halts. Atsumu must have found what he’s looking for. Normally, Kiyoomi wouldn’t let another touch him so easily, but he lets Atsumu wipe a balm over his bleeding hands wordlessly. The man then takes a bit of cloth and wraps the open wounds, not too tight that it hurts, not too loose that it would fall open. He ties them up like Kiyoomi is fragile, like he’s delicate. The thread snaps.

“Why are you so nice to me?” the words leave his lips in the quiet of the room.

Atsumu finally looks up from where he had been carefully inspecting his work. “Why wouldn’t I be kind to Inari’s husband?”

There’s something hot that fills him—boiling at his feet, the steam rising to his head and making him dizzy. He doesn’t think it’s rage.

“Do you resent me for that?”

Atsumu gives him a small smile, his thumb rubs over the bandages on Kiyoomi’s hand, tender in its ministrations. “Of course not.” He lets go and Kiyoomi feels an emptiness in his palm. “Anytime you’re hurt or in trouble, just call me and I’ll be there.”

“Wouldn’t that be—”

He waves his hand off. “Don’t worry about it. I doubt Inari would mind.”

Kiyoomi looks down again. His gaze locks on the white knuckles of his clenched fists. It’s painful. He wants them to be soothed. “The other night,” he starts. “You were reading, right?”

He lifts his eyes in time to see that Atsumu nods.

He lets out a deep breath. “What was it about?”

“Hm, I think it would bore you, though. There are much more interesting books in the library. You can ask Shouyou or Bokuto about—”

“I don’t know how to read,” Kiyoomi whispers.

At this, Atsumu frowns. “You don’t?”

“No.” Kiyoomi shakes his head. “Not at all.” He pauses. “Can you teach me?”

Atsumu nods. “Of course. But I can only do it at night. I’m quite busy during the day.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s fine.”

Atsumu walks him back to his room. It’s too late at night for there to be anyone else but stragglers, and yet there is no one in their path on this particular excursion. It’s haunting—this palace that is so filled with life during the day feels like there’s only the two of them at night. And yet, it’s miles less lonely. There’s a warmth coming from beside him or within him, Kiyoomi isn’t quite sure. But it’s there, ever present like the moon in the sky that stays there even during the day.

“Atsumu,” he starts. “Those flowers, when are they the most beautiful?”

The man beside him hums. “The most beautiful I’ve seen them was when they bloomed on the seventh day of the seventh month. There were even magpies that night. Singing under the full moon. It was quite a sight.” His voice is soft, gentle, like the pillow that Kiyoomi sleeps on at night, the blanket that covers his cold body when a breeze drifts into his room.

Kiyoomi takes those words in and tries to imagine that scene. He thinks of Atsumu, under the moonlight and surrounded by white flowers, as the birds around him sing. He thinks of the light in his eyes and the spark of his smile. He thinks of gentle hands that brush over the petals as he tries to contain his most joyous laughter. Kiyoomi frowns, troubled by his own thoughts.

“Tell me, Your Highness,” Atsumu whispers, his footsteps echo in the halls. “Why did you want to marry Inari?”

Kiyoomi thinks about it for a few moments. He thinks about the cries of the villagers, the embarrassing scene at court, those amber eyes that seemed to burn anyone it lays on. He thinks about a younger him, frail and sick, the him who climbed up a mountain to find food, the ten year old boy who was found by her messenger and blessed soon thereafter.

“She was kind to me,” Kiyoomi says. “Even when others wouldn't, she helped me. Though, that must be the nature of a god,” he adds as an afterthought.

Atsumu laughs, something light and breathy. It feels like a howl to the moon. “You’re so strange, Your Highness. One would normally be worried of what they leave behind.”

“I didn’t leave anyone behind.” The man beside him stops and turns to him. “I don’t have anyone who I care about, who cares about me.”

Atsumu’s eyes seem to glow in the dark, a hearth in the cold. He stares at him for a few beats, seemingly in deep thought. And then, after a while,

“It must be difficult to be without family.”

At this, Kiyoomi’s blood runs cold. Why did he say such things? He’s so stupid to think that he wouldn’t be caught on. No, it’s not that he thought that, it’s that he didn’t think about it at all. He never thinks, not when this man is in front of him.

So he tries to steer the conversation away.

“Does Inari have family?” he asks. “It’s why she marries, isn’t it?”

There’s a strange look in Atsumu’s eyes, one that resembles apprehension. The man shakes his head. “I wonder about that sometimes.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I thought you knew? Aren’t you the closest to her?”

Atsumu laughs again, but it’s void of the usual warmth that Kiyoomi has begun to associate it with. “The subject of family is quite complicated when it comes to her.”

“Why is it complicated?”

A dark expression falls onto Atsumu’s face. The intensity is familiar. A shiver runs down his spine. “Because there are times where you don’t know if you’ll ever see them again.”

Kiyoomi watches him, the wistful look in the other’s eyes. And then another question befalls his tongue. “What about you? Did you leave anyone behind?”

“No,” Atsumu says. “It’s more like I pushed others away.”

The rest of the walk continues in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, but Kiyoomi feels strange through it all. And when they reach his door, he finally knows why.

Because Atsumu finally looks at him again, a small smile at his lips. He reaches out a hand and tucks a stray hair behind Kiyoomi’s ear. 

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” he whispers before turning around and walking away.

That strange feeling feels heavy on his chest. It’s dense as it presses up against his ribcage acutely, the pressure of it all making it so that he can’t seem to breathe. It’s warm and makes his skin feel hot to the touch. Even when he throws all the blankets off him in a fit, he can’t seem to cool off or calm down. This feeling has a name. Kiyoomi knows it all too well.

This feeling is called guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: dont you just feel like you're astral projecting? like nothing is real  
> my friend: you're derealising 
> 
> you can yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/atsumu_twt) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/atsumu_twt).
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE ❤


	3. half moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cool air of winter should make one shiver, but in his nature, Kiyoomi enjoys the quiet when he is alone. This is the kind of peace that Kiyoomi discovers when he walks the halls of the palace at dawn.

There’s a certain kind of peace that exists when you believe that you’re the only person in the world that’s awake. It’s quiet, liberating. The cool air of winter should make one shiver, but all Kiyoomi can think of is the fact that there are things that he can look forward to now, people he can speak to. But in his nature, Kiyoomi enjoys the quiet when he is alone—not necessarily with his thoughts but alone with the way the constant ache of his heart has subsided. This is the kind of peace that Kiyoomi discovers when he walks the halls of the palace at dawn.

There were court ladies and helpers earlier who insisted on accompanying him but he told them that he would have much prefered to be left alone.

The sun isn’t up yet, the sky still dark, a purple wash over the deep black of the night before. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that it’s dusk. But the sky soon starts to pink and he knows that a new day is almost at its beginning.

He doesn’t know where exactly he’s going, he only knows that the west side of the palace is where Inari’s personal quarters are. He didn’t really mean to go into this direction, but the way the halls widen is an indication of his destination. Kiyoomi expected to see persons in waiting when he crossed into this realm of the deity and yet, he finds it mostly abandoned now despite the fact that the court begins in an hour or so. It’s strange.

Winter is here but Inari’s side of the palace is always warm. Kiyoomi knows this because that’s where the study is. Late in the winter nights, he dips his brush into ink and attempts to write as amber eyes watch him with encouragement and care, two cups of tea between them. His cheeks warm at the memory. He tugs on his outer robes, pulling them as close as he can to his body. He must just be a little cold.

Kiyoomi is passing a door when he hears voices leaking through the cracks.

“Tsum-Tsum!” a voice exclaims. It registers instantly. Bokuto. “It’s so early. Is there a reason why you called us?”

“Bokkun, court starts in an hour which means you should have been up by now anyway,” another replies. Atsumu’s voice.

“Atsumu-san, it’s rare for you to meet us during the day though,” says a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hinata.

Atsumu sighs. “I know, I don't like to bother you more than necessary—”

“It’s never a bother, Tsum-Tsum!”

There’s a clatter, the sound of someone setting something down on a table. After a pause and a few breaths let out, Kiyoomi realises that they must be drinking tea.

He shouldn’t eavesdrop. If he was taught anything, it’s that his business is his own and another one’s business is theirs. But he hasn’t heard from, much less seen Atsumu in a few days. And now he’s so close to him, a door away. All Kiyoomi has to do is open it.

“It’s about Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says after a while and Kiyoomi’s ears perk up at the mention of his name. “I don’t know when I should tell him.”

A few hums are let out in acknowledgement, like they know exactly what Atsumu is referring to. 

“To be very honest Atsumu-san, I'm surprised you let it go for this long,” Hinata says.

“Yes, I know. I feel so _guilty._ I just know that he’ll be disappointed.” Atsumu’s voice is somber, regretful, something Kiyoomi doesn’t expect to hear when talking about them. Maybe all Atsumu feels for him is sympathy. That would explain a lot.

“Hm, he really likes you, huh?” Bokuto asks and Kiyoomi can imagine him holding a hand to his chin in faux deep thought. Bokuto is animated like that. “You’re always at the library together at night.”

Still, Kiyoomi doesn’t really know how to process Bokuto’s words. He likes Atsumu, that’s a given. The man’s presence has been somewhat of a comfort ever since he arrived here. He likes him as a friend, that much he knows. But whether or not that feeling has passed that simple threshold is something he would rather not dwell upon. Every time he thinks about it, really _thinks_ about it, something like guilt pools at his feet through fits of sweat. 

Perhaps that’s an answer in itself.

He’s married to Inari, and yet he finds himself drawn to tufts of golden hair and a lazy grin being pulled at the lips. He catches himself smiling when he thinks of nightly conversations illuminated by only a lantern and moonlight. He shouldn’t. He's grateful to Inari, for everything she’s done for him. After that argument they had, they’ve fallen into an unspoken agreement.

It goes something like this: don’t bother me and I won't bother you.

For the most part it works.

But then he remembers his duties as someone who has wed another. He shouldn’t get caught up in something as stupid and irrational as _feelings._

Kiyoomi is so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't realise that the silence has settled for far too long on the other side of the door. There’s quiet all around them as Atsumu doesn't answer Bokuto’s question. It makes his chest squeeze in anticipation. Kiyoomi still can't really read Atsumu's looks or words.

Sunlight falls into the halls in rays, a slight heat starts to prickle the back of his neck. And a voice he didn’t know he was dreading to hear speaks.

“He doesn’t like _me_ ,” Inari sighs.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s late afternoon which means that the court session must be done by now. Kiyoomi has only attended a few before he decided that he doesn’t like being there—despite the open air style of the room, it’s much too stuffy for his taste. Despite the cold of winter, it's too much like a furnace next to the deity, a pulsating heat around his neck. He worries sometimes, that he's not playing his part. So when he sees Inari on the grounds, laying on the grass with her eyes closed, he has half a mind to approach her—to ask her what it is that he should be doing, what it is that she wants from him.

But he doesn’t. 

He turns away and heads to his room instead, suddenly feeling something pressed up his chest. Maybe he should go to the physician for a checkup, but he wonders what cures they would have for a human. Do gods even have sicknesses?

The only thing that has changed is the time of day.

Kiyoomi walks through the ever-familiar halls again, the wooden floors echo with every step of his feet. It’s somehow lonelier here than it was in the morning. He can almost hear the crunch of dead leaves under his feet as he trudges through a bamboo forest in the middle of winter. He doesn't have that child-like bravery anymore though. Young Kiyoomi grew up to be a coward.

A coward who holds his tongue, even as he hears voices who berate him.

At first, Kiyoomi thought it was his imagination again, a thought that isn’t that different from the one he had when he and the villagers parted ways. But when Kiyoomi rounds the corner, the whispers hush and he realises that those weren’t figments like he thought.

“Why did Inari-sama agree?”

“She knows she will never find him like this.”

“I pity the human, but I pity Inari-sama even more.”

It’s not like Kiyoomi didn’t expect this. He’s not the groom any of them really expected. He’s quiet, unsociable, he avoids Inari whenever he can and disappears in the nooks and crannies of the palace at night. No one really buys it—that he’s royal or special for that matter. Why did the people choose him? Why did Inari even agree? 

Still, the voices of the earlier gossip quieten once they see him. He feels his face burn a little in embarrassment. He’s not well liked here either.

And then he hears it,

“I don’t think Inari-sama would be happy to hear what those who serve her have to say about her husband. Don’t you think so, Shou-kun?”

Kiyoomi’s head snaps to the source and sees Bokuto, always grinning and laughing Bokuto, with his mouth in a line, a slight pinch at his eyebrows. It sends shivers down Kiyoomi’s spine.

“Omi-san,” Hinata says, suddenly appearing before him. He reminds him of a little bird the way he seems to chirp. “Are you alright?”

 _No,_ he wants to say.

“Yes,” he says instead.

But clearly, those who live in Takamagahara know more because both Bokuto and Hinata look at him with something like sympathy in their eyes. He hates those expressions on their faces, he gets enough of that from Inari. He doesn't want to be pitied like this.

“Hm,” Bokuto hums, a little unconvinced and maybe even confused. And then, as if he suddenly remembered something, “Oh yeah! Inari asked us to deliver these to you!”

Kiyoomi looks down to what Bokuto is holding and sees a small brown chest, closed and locked. He wonders if his curiosity is clear when he gives them a small nod and leads the two men to his chambers. 

Bokuto sets it down on the low table and opens it. Inside are crushed tea leaves, chamomile and cinnamon.

Kiyoomi frowns.

“Inari said this is your favourite!” Hinata beams at him.

Kiyoomi has always liked sweetness in his food. It’s a luxury—one that he normally could never have. And yet, since arriving at the palace and being offered such a blend on his first night, he can’t seem to get enough of it. It’s subtle and savoury, like the amber eyes with specks of gold that look at him with subdued mirth from across the table at night. There's a tinge in his heart now, almost like acupuncture that goes into the flesh and right through the bone. It doesn't heal anything.

He sits down at the table in seiza, his palms flat on his thighs.

“I didn’t think she would know,” he mutters. The needle is sharp.

Bokuto laughs. “Of course she does! You’re married, Kiyoomi-kun.”

“I… I suppose.”

At this, Bokuto and Hinata exchange glances. They don’t speak for a while, the only sounds that can be heard are the soft thumps of footsteps Kiyoomi knows belongs to the court ladies outside. The same court ladies who—

“Are you still worried about what they said earlier, Omi-san?” Hinata asks.

Kiyoomi feels his eyebrows pinch together. “Why are you calling me that?”

“Atsumu-san says it makes you seem more approachable!”

He looks down to his hands above his knees—now fists. They clench tightly, crescent moons dig into his palms.

“I haven’t seen him all day,” he says.

“Hm, well he’s only around at night,” Hinata replies thoughtfully.

“Why is that?” he asks.

“That’s his own business, Omi-san. I don’t think I should be the one to divulge.”

Embarrassed, Kiyoomi turns his attention towards the wooden casket. He can smell the cinnamon even in the coldness. It must be sweet next to the bitterness of the crushed leaves. He wants a taste.

“Earlier,” he starts. “They said that Inari is looking for someone. Who would that be?”

Something flashes in their eyes, nervous in the way they proceed. 

“Yes, she is,” Bokuto says.

“And that person is definitely not me?”

The other man shakes his head. “Not quite.” He pauses. “But that doesn’t mean that you’re not wanted or cared for! Inari cares quite a lot.”

It’s hot, that churning in his stomach. He feels like he wants to vomit—like the bile that threatens to rise up his throat is the least damaging thing he could do with his mouth right now.

“What would the punishment be then?”

“Sorry?” Bokuto stares at him. Those golden owl-like eyes seem to be a pool of emotion that Kiyoomi can’t decipher right now.

“What would the punishment be for cheating a god?” he asks, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

“Omi-san,” Hinata says. “You’ve done no such thing.”

He whips his head towards the fiery haired man, feeling the way his ears burn red and chest squeeze tight. “What is the punishment?”

“ _‘You will drown in the Sanzu no Kawa.’_ ”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Winter is the season of harshness, when cold winds sound like howls in the night, when people turn against their own, when children shiver on the streets and death around them is more apparent.

Kiyoomi has always hated the cold, he's always hated winter.

“Omi-kun, the ink is dripping,” a voice says.

His eyes shift to the brush in between his fingers, the ink drips from the tip and blots the parchment, stretching the blackness wider and wider. He sets it aside.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Atsumu shakes his head, humming. “No, that’s fine. You’re getting much better at it.”

Truthfully, his penmanship is terrible but it’s not what it was a month ago when Atsumu first taught him the order of strokes. Now he can write his name.

_Kiyoomi._

“ _Holy minister,_ ” Atsumu had whispered to him the first time he tried to write it, copying down what Atsumu had written on top of the page. “It's a good name.”

“What does your name mean, Atsumu?” he asked.

Atsumu laughed. “It means _‘the urge to eat’._ ”

The Atsumu in front of him now places a steaming cup of tea next to his hand. Chamomile and cinnamon. His favourite blend.

He blows on it before taking a sip, the drink warming up his insides like a fire of his own. When he lifts his gaze from the dark liquid, he sees that a warm set of eyes are on him too.

“What is it?” he asks.

Atsumu shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s just nice seeing how much you’ve improved.”

Kiyoomi is grateful for the single lantern that sits on the desk between them. It’s much too dark for Atsumu to see the rush of colour in his cheeks. It’s much too dark for Kiyoomi to see anything but Atsumu. His thoughts betray him again, and now all he can feel is a pang of guilt that comes as often as he meets Atsumu at night.

“You never questioned me though,” Kiyoomi mutters.

“Questioned what?”

“You never asked why I can’t read or write.”

Still, Atsumu looked at him strangely, his mouth in a frown as his eyes seemingly search for meaning behind Kiyoomi’s words, like they would be found on his face.

“Isn’t it strange? How a prince is illiterate? I’m sure Inari was disappointed.”

“Omi-kun, that prince title is merely a name. That’s not expected of you.”

“But _was_ she disappointed? It looked like she was.”

Kiyoomi thinks back to the first day, back to Inari’s intense stare that seemed to burn him. He couldn’t really tell what she meant by that. It was too much at the time and Kiyoomi was far too scared to focus on it.

But Atsumu laughs before he can dwell on it any further. “No, she wasn’t.” He shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips.

“How are you so sure?” 

“Because I know her well enough.” He hunches forward and rests his cheek on his palm before continuing. “I know of your circumstance. Most of the past grooms or brides are much like you. They were outcasts.”

“What happened to them?”

Atsumu looks down, avoiding Kiyoomi’s gaze, his shoulders seem to droop at the memory. He must be saddened by it too. “Marrying a god doesn’t make you one. Humans die quite young. I’ve always enjoyed their company.”

“The way you enjoy mine?”

Atsumu stops, lifting his head from his hand and stares at him, stunned. And then the edges soften and he grins, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “No, it’s not the same.”

Kiyoomi huffs out a laugh, out of embarrassment more than anything and hopes that the man doesn’t notice.

“Where were you this morning?” he asks.

“Hm?” Atsumu sits up straight again, leaning back on his chair with a groan. They've been at the study for hours now. “I wasn’t aware we made plans.” He smirks.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Not that. It seems that Inari knew of the tea that I like. Were you at court today?”

Atsumu nods slowly, almost cautiously. “Yes, I was.”

“It seems you’re only there when I'm not.”

“You can say that you missed me. It won’t kill you, you know.”

Kiyoomi frowns. Quietly, he says, “It might.”

Atsumu sighs. “What are you so worried about?”

“Aren’t you scared of what people might say?” He thinks back to the whispers of this morning. It’s not that he merely feels unworthy, it’s that he knows that he is. “I’m not married to you, yet I meet you alone at night—”

“—To _learn._ We aren’t doing anything wrong, Kiyoomi.”

“But I still feel bad.” He looks down at his hands, blackened with splotches of ink. It doesn’t look that much different from when he was sleeping on dirt as a child. He tries to take a deep breath but he knows that he’s heaving by now. “What if she gets upset?”

“I told you, Inari doesn’t mind—”

“—Then why won’t she look at me!” Kiyoomi stands up, his chair scraping backwards and falling to the ground in a loud clatter. “Inari said that the current arrangement is for the better but is it really? It's like we're strangers. She’s upset with me! I know she is. That’s why she pretends like I don’t exist.”

Atsumu stands up and makes a move towards Kiyoomi. He places his hands on his shoulders, gripping them tightly as if to ground him, to remind Kiyoomi that he’s real and breathing.

“She’s not upset with you. Please, don’t worry about that,” he pleads. It’s strange how hard Atsumu is trying to lie to him. It makes that uncomfortable feeling from the morning spread even more. Who can he trust if not his friend? “She has never been upset with you.”

“How do you know?” Kiyoomi asks, a little desperately—maybe just as desperately as Atsumu is trying to convince him.

“Because I know _her_ and I know _you._ She’s not upset. I promise you that she isn’t.” He pulls him in then, warm arms surround him, fingertips on his back that press against him firmly and Kiyoomi fights the urge to squirm and accepts it, he accepts the rare warmth that a winter night brings.

Kiyoomi places his hands on Atsumu’s back too, gripping the thick fabric that only comes with this time of year.

“I hope you’re right,” Kiyoomi whispers. Hope is the correct word, it’s all Kiyoomi has done since arriving here in the first place.

He feels a short breath in the crook of his neck, hot and damning. “She has her worries too.”

Suddenly, his throat feels wet.

_You’ll drown._

_You’ll drown in the Sanzu no Kawa._

  
  


* * *

  
  


In the afternoon, Kiyoomi sits at the gardens alone. Nobody usually bothers him at this time of day. People know to leave him alone.

So when the light of the sun is blocked by a looming shadow, Kiyoomi instantly knows who it is. He turns around and meets the familiar amber eyes of the large white fox.

“Come take a walk with me, Kiyoomi,” she says before turning around again. He stands up and follows her.

She leads him to the edge of the grounds, it’s farther out than he’s ever braved to venture. At the edge, is a forest of bamboo that’s covered in snow but grows tall and green despite the severity of winter. 

_Bamboo forests survive the cold and that is where the Prince of the Moon was born._

But it’s not here that’s the destination, she leads him further along on the deep path within that once escaped, leads to a large lake, a pavilion right in front of them.

She turns around then, watching his every move with those eyes that seem to be omniscient. Kiyoomi wonders what it is that she sees in him that she lets him stay for so long. 

“I would like to apologise.” She closes her eyes.

Kiyoomi stills his breath. _What?_

He frowns. “What for, Inari-sama?”

She raises her head and their gazes lock. “I haven’t been fair to you. And I—I believe that I should be truthful in this matter.”

Inari looks at him then, _really_ looks at him. And… he feels strange. It’s the first time that she’s done so, that she’s paying attention to him in a way that doesn’t make him feel like she’s only worried that he would run off somewhere. She looks at him like she _cares._

It’s a look that he’s seen before but decidedly not from _her._

He looks down, his fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his outer coat. He’s grateful for the scarf that's woven around his neck so all Inari can see are his eyes. He hopes they don’t betray him this time.

“Did I upset you, Inari-sama?” he asks.

“No,” she says. “Not at all. You may be upset with me though. I haven’t given you the warmest of welcomes.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t lift his head, he still keeps it low. “I hope that you won’t ignore me anymore.”

“I won’t.”

Relief washes over him in waves, much like being pulled to the surface after his boat rocked into the river, much like finding food after trekking a mountain as a child, much like warm arms that cover his shaking body.

He wants to tell her so, that he feels relieved. But before he can a voice calls to them.

“Omi-san! Inari-sama!”

He turns around and sees that familiar bed of hair that resembles that orange leaves in the fall that passed. Hinata walks up to them, a grin wide on his face.

“Bokuto-san and I are planning to go to the market tonight. We were wondering if you’d like to join us.” There’s something about Hinata’s cheeriness that further expels any anxiety that Kiyoomi has left. “Would you like to come with us, Omi-san?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen and he turns his head to Inari. “Can I?”

She nods. “Of course. You don’t have to be cooped up in here. It’s fine to go.”

Still, there’s something unsettling about her answer. “Will you not be coming with?”

Inari shakes her head. “I would prefer not to. But you should have fun.” She turns towards Hinata. “You two should keep an eye on him then. He doesn’t know the square like you do.”

“Yes, of course, Inari-sama!” he says.

And with that, she leaves. Her looming figure turns smaller and smaller as she walks further away from them, disappearing into the bamboo forest.

He turns to Hinata again. “What time are we going?”

“After sundown!”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kiyoomi has been to a market square before, but he’s never been to one like this—one where there are lights all around them, lanterns that illuminate their path so they don't rely on the mere half moon in the night sky. The streets are wider here, main roads that seem to endlessly connect to other roads. There’s something almost childlike in the way his chest seems to bubble in glee at what he sees around him. He wonders if the marvel is clear in his eyes as he stares at all the people that bustle through the market.

“Kiyoomi-kun, this way,” Bokuto says with a smile.

His leads him through the crowd. Normally, he would hate being in such a place. But seeing so many people in a less formal setting makes him feel like a normal person again, it makes him feel like he doesn’t need to hold his breath.

He doesn’t quite know what it is that they’re looking for today, but he has a suspicion that this is just an elaborate ploy to bring him outside with the way they stop and chatter and buy random things along the way. There is no cohesion or urgency in any of their movements. For some reason, it makes Kiyoomi smile.

They stop at one stall. Hinata badgers on with the vendor, attempting to bargain while Bokuto attempts to back him up. Both seem quite terrible at it, but Kiyoomi won't comment on that.

Instead, he turns to the trinkets set out front of him. Gold, silver, jade ornaments and jewelry decorate the plain basket they sit in. Only one of them catches his eye though.

It’s small and white, barely the size of his thumb.

A white fox.

He smiles.

“Hinata,” he starts, turning towards their direction to find no one standing there. 

But he shouldn’t panic. It’s not the end of the world, not yet. He should ask where they’ve gone.

“Excuse me sir,” he says to the vendor Hinata and Bokuto were speaking to earlier. “Have you seen my friends?”

But when the man turns to him, he doesn’t meet an expression that shows kindness. Instead, the man lifts his eyebrows in shock and then his face morphs into something like disgust.

“Who are you?” the man all but spits.

“Sir?”

“You! You’re human, aren’t you?” his voice is much too loud, drawing attention to the both of them. Some people stop and stare.

Kiyoomi sets down the trinket and makes a move to leave but the man grabs hold of him before he can run away. The grip he has on him is tight, and now Kiyoomi understands the strength of those from the heavens because he swears the circulation of blood in his arms is being cut off.

“Who do you think you are, ah?” the man sneers. “A mere _human_ walking the streets like he owns the place.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes dart around, trying to find the familiar heads of orange and silver but he sees nothing. Nothing at all. And it’s like he’s falling into that river again on that morning. Cold water fills his lungs and he’s drowning. Suddenly, he’s acutely aware that he’s surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar people and that feeling of dread starts to fill him tenfold. He can't believe he managed to get separated from them. Inari will be so upset with him now.

Oh.

Kiyoomi can’t breathe.

“How did you get here?!”

His voice can’t seem to come out. There’s a drought in his throat, a famine in his stomach. There’s no rain to fall and bear witness to trees in fruition. Winter has long since arrived.

The man shakes him, fingernails clawing into his skin. Kiyoomi wonders if he’s bleeding now. If he is, maybe Atsumu will clean them for him again. He needs to call his name, Atsumu will be here if he does. But the words get lodged in his throat and he can’t seem to speak.

_Atsumu._

“Answer me!”

He shuts his eyes tight. He tries to will his voice to leave with a breath but it doesn’t. It can’t.

_Atsumu._

“Hey!”

 _Help!_ he wants to scream. _Atsumu, help me!_

_Atsumu!_

“You there,” a voice behind him says. Kiyoomi recognises it instantly, but he wonders if relief should wash over him yet. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Carefully, he opens his eyes and sees that the eyes of the man holding him are blown wide in panic.

“I-I-Inari-sama,” the man stutters.

Kiyoomi’s neck snaps to what the man is referring to but he only sees Atsumu standing behind him. An angry Atsumu. Atsumu with a dark expression on his face, his mouth in a tight line, his amber eyes seem to crackle, like he can light fires with them, like he can burn down all the trees and flowers that he cultivates, like he can dry up the soil and leave people waste. He’s squinting at the man’s grip on his shoulders.

“This human here—”

“Get your hands off my husband,” Atsumu says coolly.

And the man lets him go in haste, pushing him towards Atsumu saying incoherent words of ‘go on then’, ‘hurry up’, ‘please’. Kiyoomi's steps are unsteady as he meets the other halfway, his mind going at a mile a minute with thoughts of confusion. Atsumu is being called Inari by this man. Atsumu called Kiyoomi his husband. Atsumu—

“Inari-sama, I wasn’t aware—”

“No, you weren’t.” Atsumu’s gaze is deadly, his eyes seem to narrow even further. It’s cold, so much colder than the winter winds that surround them. He turns towards Kiyoomi and his expression softens immediately. Atsumu seems like a different person like this. A completely different person. “Are you alright?” he asks.

_Temperamental._

_Inari is temperamental._

The words can’t seem to come out so he nods an answer. 

He feels his heart bend and shake in the cavern of his chest. Kiyoomi still can’t process what in the world is going on. His hand reaches for Atsumu, but he's grown weak, the energy in his arms has long since been drained and it forces him to hold onto the sleeve of Atsumu’s outer coat instead.

He bows his head low. “Atsumu, can we please go now?”

“Yes, of course.”

Atsumu slips his fingers through Kiyoomi’s hand and guides him through the market square of Takamagahara wordlessly. Much like his characteristic smile and gaze and laughter, the hand against Kiyoomi’s palm is warm. It’s so warm that Kiyoomi almost forgets about the cold and the ache in his joints and in his chest.

Atsumu brings him back to the palace, the lights of the lanterns cast shadows on the cobblestone floors. Instead of the garden, Atsumu brings him to the edge of the grounds, he guides him through the bamboo forest towards the pavilion over the lake. At night, the waters seem to shine under the moonlight, with each ripple is a sparkle of light. The lake will freeze over soon enough.

He lets go off Kiyoomi's hand and then turns to him, a nervous expression on his face. It’s an odd sight.

“I’m sorry—”

“Atsumu,” he interjects and the man’s mouth closes. “Are you Inari?”

Atsumu looks at him then, and it’s strange. His eyes glow in the moonlight, embers in a hearth during winter. He’s seen that gaze from the man in front of him multiple times, and then he racks through his mind and tries to remember the first time he had ever seen such an expression. What he sees is the gaze of the goddess he married when he first met her. Intense, curious and nervous.

Warm.

“Yes,” Atsumu says quietly.

“But you said your name was—”

“It’s the name I go by personally, the name I want you to call me when we are alone.”

Something in Kiyoomi’s chest stirs. Maybe it’s his shivering heart that quickens its pace, maybe it’s his lungs that gasp for more cool air. He’s unsure of what it is that’s stirring, but he knows that it’s laying the foundations of something—something that wants to bloom. The ground is too cold for flowers this time of year, but his heart might be thawed by the gaze of the other.

“You—”

“Can I apologise first?” Atsumu asks, he fidgets with his fingers. “For deceiving you for so long. I’m sorry about that. Truly. Deeply."

Kiyoomi frowns. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“It’s not much of a conversation starter. And besides, you wouldn’t have spoken to me the way you did if you knew we were one and the same.” Atsumu bites his lower lip before continuing. “That first night you spoke to me, I was planning on telling you but I,” he sighs, running a hand through his golden hair. “After you told me that you couldn’t sleep and then when you cried in front of me, how could I? I was the cause of that. I didn’t want you to feel guilty for being truthful with me.”

“But I,” Kiyoomi swallows the fist that’s lodged in his throat. He feels irritation start to brew in the base of his stomach. There’s an inexplicable itch all around him. “I did feel guilty. I felt so _guilty,_ Atsumu. The more I spent time with you, the more I felt like you were the one that I wanted. You didn’t look at me during the day, not after a while. So I clung to you at night, you were the first friend I made and I, I thought that I—I thought that I was being unfaithful. I was so worried about hurting you.”

At this Atsumu’s eyes go wide, his jaw dropping in shock. He walks towards Kiyoomi now and places his hands on his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Kiyoomi. That was thoughtless of me.” His given name on Atsumu's tongue does something to his chest. It squeezes him tightly, like a fist that envelops his heart.

Atsumu reaches up a hand. It's warm on Kiyoomi's cheek as Atsumu thumbs away the tears that he didn't realise were spilling.

“It really was,” he mutters, briefly closing his eyes. “You must have known—how I felt. You must have.”

“I was scared,” Atsumu admits. And that makes Kiyoomi stop in his tracks. He scans Atsumu’s face, the pained expression is still so _strange_ on him. “I was so embarrassed of the fact that I even lied in the first place. I knew everything you felt and yet, I couldn't say a word. It was pathetic. And there were times where I thought that you would see right through me. That if you looked a little closer, you would have discovered the truth. And that scared me. I thought you’d be disappointed.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Why would I be disappointed?”

“You’re saying that you aren’t?” Atsumu quirks up an eyebrow. His gaze on him is focused, as if challenging Kiyoomi to say what he thinks is true. All of his attention is on him.

“No.” Kiyoomi shakes his head truthfully. “I’m not disappointed. Not at all.”

At this, Atsumu barks out a laugh. He still looks at Kiyoomi in disbelief, but his edges have been worn down, smoothened. “What kind of person would want to marry a cursed god in the first place?”

The words stick in his ears and echo in his head. None of them make sense to him. “You’re cursed?”

“ _‘One form by sunrise, another by sunset. Split the soul in two, that is the price of your debt’._ It’s quite the punishment, isn’t it?” He laughs but it quickly falters as he lets out a sigh to grimace. Looking away, he confesses, “It’s a painful memory, one I would rather not delve into right at this moment.”

“But will you?”

“Yes, I will. I’ll tell you everything in time.”

He doesn't know how long they spend together in the pavilion but it soon gets much too cold. Kiyoomi ends up in Atsumu’s chambers, refusing to part ways in fear that it’s actually all a dream. Atsumu concedes, though not before laughing at him. 

And for most of the time that they're there, they spend it in silence. He lays next to the man he can now call his husband and stares at his sleeping face before he soon drifts off himself. 

When he wakes up, it’s already dawn. Atsumu is moving around the room, pacing back and forth in what seems like a fit of contained panic. When he notices that Kiyoomi is awake he just stands there to stare at him, a lip caught between teeth.

“I have to go soon,” he says.

Kiyoomi lifts the blanket off his chest and moves towards his shaking figure. He places both hands on either side of Atsumu’s face. The man looks at him, something like worry festering in his eyes as sunlight starts to creep over the distant horizon. Kiyoomi has a thought of wanting to put out that sparking flame and bring light to a new one.

Where his palms meet skin, soon his fingers are surrounded by fur. Those same eyes look at him, far more human than Kiyoomi has ever seen before with the way they are brimming with a certain emotion he can’t quite put his finger on. 

Kiyoomi closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the snout of the god. He breathes in the cold air, the smell that still sticks to Atsumu from last night; bamboo, melted snow, a half-frozen lake.

“Let me accompany you today, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i really write an entire fic just so i can write the line "get your hands off my husband"? it's more likely than you think.
> 
> you can yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/atsumu_twt) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/atsumu_twt).


	4. crescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels like a monster on most days, one that can’t control his anger or emotions for that matter. On some days he might be rain that drizzles and on others he’s torrential. He wonders why Kiyoomi doesn’t look for sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a fool... no longer will i promise the amount of chapters
> 
> also, mind the updated tags hehe

Atsumu remembers clearly what happened on that day. Smoke at the horizon of the setting sun, rivers that turned red in bloodshed, his sword driven into his sibling’s chest.

“I’m a patron of these people,” Atsumu had said, his face mudied and his kimono ripped at the side. “I can’t let you take them away from me.”

All around them were bodies, clansmen who fought for nothing of valor but they still prayed to Inari to help them. Warriors and swordsmiths took Inari as their patron and Atsumu had a responsibility. He couldn’t let them die like this.

“I recognise your patronage, brother. But that has nothing to do with _me._ ” Silver eyes looked back at him then from across the field. Normal humans wouldn’t have been able to hold such a conversation, but they were not human. “Humans fight amongst themselves and I take them away. That’s my job as the god of death.”

Atsumu gritted his teeth. “Do _not_ take away what’s mine.” He raised his sword then, and pointed the tip towards the other.

“These people aren’t _yours,_ Atsumu. They belong to no one.”

He ran towards the other then, his sandals slipping into the loose dirt that was made black from all the blood that had dried up. There was a clash of swords—he swung, and dodged, all movements were too fast to be seen by a human’s eye. No one was there to see such a fight, their only witness was the stars above them.

He was getting tired. Atsumu panted, gazing at the one he called his brother from the day they both came to be. The moonlight was upon them, it shone on Osamu’s grey hair and turned it white.

He lifted his sword again and charged. They pushed each other and shoved, somehow moving to uneven terrain. The grass was slippery there, drenched in what Atsumu knew was blood, and his brother was starting to slip. And then, as a final blow, Atsumu struck him with the hilt of his sword.

Osamu stumbled backwards and fell on the ground with a thud. His hold on his own sword was loose and he tried to grip it again tightly before Atsumu planted his foot on his wrist and pushed harder. His brother hissed and let it go, allowing Atsumu to kick the sword away. He wasn’t thinking clearly then, his mind was still clouded in anger. People often told him that he was temperamental, that his body seemed to house a storm that would only rage harder once provoked even the slightest. He didn’t own his brother either, so he had no obligation to protect him.

A thought ran through his mind, one that he would regret soon after, _Wouldn’t it be ironic—if the god of death himself died by the hands of the patron success?_

He looked down at his brother, amber eyes on silver eyes. There was a balance that existed between them and because of them, he hadn’t known then. Osamu was breathing heavily, but his eyes started to narrow, as if to say, _Do it. I want you to do it._

He granted that last wish. The sword in his hands seemed to move on its own as it forced its way into the flesh of his brother before him.

And then a silence. The only breath he heard was his own.

The sun started to rise, dawn was upon him once again but this time it was different. The deep black turned purple and the purple became pink and then the first rays of light danced from the horizon and the sword he was holding clattered to the ground.

His hands turned thicker, white fur sprouting from the pores.

Atsumu screamed but what came out was a growl. 

That first transformation was the most painful thing he had ever experienced. He felt all of it, the way it felt like his cheekbones were crushed and ground to dust before they took another form, all the sharp contortions of his spine, the shift of muscle and meat, the weight of all inside him that changed.

There was a name written on his sword, one that didn’t belong to him either. It read: _to govern._

  
  


* * *

  
  


Atsumu opens his eyes to a familiar ceiling and when he turns to his side, there’s an unfamiliar view.

Kiyoomi.

Right. He told Kiyoomi the truth last night.

“Are you upset with me?” he asked, right before he felt himself drift off. He hoped that he would dream of Kiyoomi.

“A little,” his husband replied, a whisper that could barely be heard. “But mostly, I’m happy to know.”

It’s nearing dawn. He wakes up at the same time every day. Carefully, he makes his way out of bed and covers Kiyoomi’s body with the blanket. He goes to the basin of water at the corner of his room to wash his face. The midwinter air cools him further, but he’s never been one to freeze.

Still, there’s an uneasiness surrounding him. Kiyoomi sleeps in his bed seemingly without a care in the world, even though the first night he was here, he couldn’t sleep until he drank that tea. That has always been Atsumu’s favourite blend as well, even if it’s a little sweeter for his taste.

Now Atsumu wonders if some sort of persuasion medicine was dripped into the tea because he doesn’t understand why Kiyoomi doesn’t seem to mind his transformations. He feels like a monster on most days, one that can’t control his anger or emotions for that matter. On some days he might be rain that drizzles and on others he’s torrential. He wonders why Kiyoomi doesn’t look for sunlight.

But the sun that dares to rise above the horizon brings him out of his thoughts.

This will be the first day of a transformation where Kiyoomi will know. And Atsumu doesn’t really know what to make of it. 

He has a nail between his teeth when Kiyoomi starts to stir. And then he turns to him, nervous.

“I have to go soon,” he says, silently telling Kiyoomi that it’s okay for him to leave and go about his day as normal. He doesn’t own him and can’t expect him to stay.

But then Kiyoomi gets up from the bed and stands right in front of him, tentatively placing both his hands on either side of Atsumu’s face, a delicate tremble in his fingers.

The sun rises and Atsumu feels the change. It’s much less painful now than it was in the beginning, but the heart still aches, inexplicably.

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and Atsumu feels the way his own stills.

“Let me accompany you today, Atsumu.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“So Omi-san knows now?”

Atsumu leans back on his chair, the documents in front of him half unstamped. “Yes, the truth came out. Not on purpose though.”

Hinata bows his head. “I’m very sorry, Atsumu-san. You can punish me for my wrongdoing.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s fine. He took it quite well. A lot better than I was expecting him to.”

The man in front of him nods. “When you came to court together I was quite surprised. Though, I think all of us were.”

Atsumu doesn’t respond to that. Kiyoomi didn’t leave his side even for a second. His hand lightly gripped the fur on his leg as they walked into the room together. Kiyoomi didn’t say much then, but he kept close as if afraid that Atsumu would disappear. At the end of the session, he had other things to attend to, but he promised to meet Kiyoomi after dinner.

“Do you think he’s eaten yet?” Atsumu asks.

There’s a grin on the other’s face, as if Hinata can see right through him. Whatever that means. “I think you can see him whenever you want, Atsumu-san.”

“That wouldn’t be proper.”

“Since when have you cared about such things?”

Atsumu quirks up an eyebrow. “Maybe I _should_ punish you.” But then, he soon laughs after before excusing himself. He can finish his work later.

He finds Kiyoomi where he finds him on most nights: in the study. The man is already there, his back to Atsumu as he tries to write a new word. There are scrolls and orihons all around him that are only illuminated by the single lantern on the table. Quietly, Atsumu makes his way there, his steps as soft as the grass on a battlefield. He leans over Kiyoomi’s shoulder, observing his writing, the other clearly not noticing his presence yet.

“That’s good,” Atsumu whispers.

Kiyoomi jumps in his seat. The ink splotches onto the parchment. The man turns around and glares at him but Atsumu finds himself smiling anyway.

“Sorry about that, Omi-kun.” Insincerity leaks into his voice as he walks over to his side of the table. He sits down on the familiar chair, gaze still on Kiyoomi.

“Are you really?” Kiyoomi snaps.

“No. Not at all.”

Kiyoomi sets the brush down and crosses his arms, his eyebrows furrowed, a clear pout on his lips. Atsumu has to force himself to stay put.

“I can’t believe I thought you were kind,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu leans forward, his chin resting on a palm. “I’m _very_ kind.”

“I’m having a difficult time believing it.”

“That can change though, Omi-kun.”

The man in front of him sits up, uncrossing his arms as he recognises the familiar words. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, a shift in the air, and Atsumu feels a storm brewing.

“You know, I wonder if you remember sometimes,” Kiyoomi whispers.

“Hm? Remember what?”

He looks down, nervous at his coming words. “You see, my parents died when I was young, so I never really had people taking care of me. When I was a child, I ran to the mountains to find food.” Kiyoomi looks at him now, steady and searing. There’s that ache in his chest now. “It was winter then, so none of the villagers had any food to spare.

“But in the forest, I was alone and shivering until I prayed to—to you.”

Atsumu drops his hand and watches him, the way his face is a little pink in its flush, how his breath quivers at retelling the story, the way his fingers fidget and prick at his hands. The scars have long since been healed but worry seeps into him like blood on a kimono.

He stands up, footsteps echo in the empty room and a chair scrapes backwards. He sits next to Kiyoomi, pulling a hand away from the other by the sleeve.

Kiyoomi stares at him wide eyed, his flush a deeper red. He looks down.

“A-And then, I met a fox in the forest. And it led me to a house with food and warmth and I wondered if… if—”

“If that was me?” Atsumu asks.

The other nods, gaze still on the floor.

“Yes, the fox was me.” He remembers this, faintly, like a dream—a child with dark curls who looked up at him in fear. Nervous footsteps beside him as Atsumu led him deeper into the thicket.

Kiyoomi’s head snaps back up and Atsumu can see that his eyes are wet. He frowns.

“Why are you crying?” It seems he always does this to Kiyoomi. How many nights has he brought tears to his eyes? 

“I’m not crying,” Kiyoomi says, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes.

“What’s the use of lying about this?”

“I’m just relieved!” he bites out. “You make me so upset sometimes when you act like the only thing you do is make me upset.”

Atsumu lets out a breath. “That’s quite a paradox.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” the other whispers, helplessly.

He chuckles, his hand reaching out to thumb away the stray tears. “I’ll teach you everything.” Slowly but surely. Morning dew that evaporates in the sun.

There’s a certain glow on Kiyoomi’s face as the light from the lanterns casts a warm sheen over one side, the tears glisten. His eyelashes are wet too, Atsumu notices. They’re long and curled just like the man’s hair. Even when the tears stop, Atsumu’s hand rests there—fingers in his hair.

Kiyoomi looks at him from under his eyelashes, long and wet, anticipating.

Atsumu lets his hand fall and he leans back, a distance between them. This is a balance that he shouldn’t outweigh, steadiness deep in the roots of his movements so that the scale doesn’t tip.

“I was observing that day,” he says.

There’s a shift in Kiyoomi’s face, something like disappointment before it’s back to a neutral expression. It was a split second, but Atsumu saw everything.

“What were you observing?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Someone who doesn’t remember me.”

“Why don’t they remember you?”

Quietly, Atsumu confesses. “I did something horrible to them and now their memories search for them too.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I don’t think I understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.” He sighs, looking out the window to the moon that illuminates the night. Snow falls outside, gently and fondly as if they are cherry blossoms in spring, but all they bring is coldness—coldness and memories of comfort. “It’s getting quite late. I’ll walk you back to your room.”

He stands up, stretching out a hand.

But Kiyoomi only glances at it, hesitating.

“I can’t stay with you tonight?” he asks.

Atsumu pulls his hand back slightly, tilting his head. “Well, you can.”

“Then I want to stay with you.”

“But why?”

Kiyoomi stands up. He’s a little taller than Atsumu is when he isn’t hunched over. Atsumu decides that he likes looking up at him.

“At the village, people would be married if they spend three nights together,” Kiyoomi explains.

“But we already _are_ married. For a while now too.” Humans and their rituals have always been so bizarre to Atsumu.

Kiyoomi looks at him dead on, his gaze unflinching. It burns. How strange. “I just want to stay with you.”

At this, Atsumu smirks. “Is this a request?”

“More like a prayer.”

_Ah._

The grin is wiped off his face but he quickly regains his composure. “You’re quite sly, Omi-kun,” he says, resting his hands on his hips. “Who knew that meekness hid such confidence?”

“I’m not meek.”

“Just shy?”

Kiyoomi sighs. “Will you stop teasing now?”

“Is this a prayer too?” he laughs, head thrown back as his body shakes with glee. And then he loops an arm around Kiyoomi’s, fingers tracing downwards until they intertwine. “Lets go.”

There is an ease with walking the halls at night when the person you’re with knows that this is right.

The court ladies are still present, their long black hair trailing their backs over the layers and layers of colourful robes they adorn. When they see Atsumu round the corner with Kiyoomi, they quickly avert their eyes, lowering their gazes. But the man beside him freezes only for a second. Atsumu has heard of what was said from Bokuto and Hinata, and he wants so badly to scream. He isn’t really one to shy away from causing a scene no matter who is present but he hears the way Kiyoomi’s breath comes out a little shallow and he knows that the other wants to leave as soon as possible. So instead, he gives a light squeeze to the palm cradled in his hand—for reassurance more than anything else.

When Atsumu finally closes the door of his chambers, it’s made apparent that the only sound around them is the deafening silence of winter’s night.

He turns around to look at his husband whose gaze tells him that he’s only been looking at him the entire time.

“ _I forget,_ ” he starts.

Kiyoomi frowns. “What are you—”

“ _And it seems a dream somehow / Or one I never had?_ ” he whispers, his eyes on Kiyoomi. His breath seems to quiver in the cold. A fire and a blanket, those are what he needs. “ _Forging through the snow / To see my Prince._ ”

He smiles at Kiyoomi’s wide eyes, black as the winter night around them but infinitely warmer. “That was Ariwara no Narihira. I quite like his poems.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Beauty is something that Atsumu doesn’t pay any mind to in normal circumstances. Beauty is part of nature, as is ugliness on the other side of the coin—much like the moon and all of its phases. It reveals and hides but it’s always there. Atsumu remembers the first time Kiyoomi entered the court, his dark heavy robes draping his shoulders as he nervously stepped foot over the wooden floor. There was a crest on him, one in the shape of the moon. The humans below had called him a prince then, the Prince of the Moon.

Tonight, the moon is mostly hidden but luminous all the same. Tonight, the moonlight dances around Kiyoomi’s frame and Atsumu feels his breath hitch. Because tonight, for a second, he thinks Kiyoomi could be a deity.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, Your Highness.”

There’s a blanket of snow outside now, white like the moon that shines in it, like the blank parchments of many nights shared between the two of them, like the paleness of Kiyoomi’s skin, unmarred.

Walking up the Kiyoomi, he places his hands on either side of the other’s face, still holding his gaze. Kiyoomi looks at him like he’s the only other person who exists. For this moment, it might be true. He finds himself leaning in, the gap between them inching to a close. He thought he would be panicked but his heart is at ease. Like this is natural.

But then Atsumu remembers their circumstance, the impropriety, his lack of control and the storm that threatens to rumble, so he turns his head in the last second and instead, leans into the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck. It’s quite warm.

He breathes him in—ink, cinnamon and snow—liquid as the rays of moonlight that turn Kiyoomi’s black hair blue. He could get used to this. He wants to.

* * *

  
  


On his wedding day, Kiyoomi was told that marriage is a union of two families and he would like to think that a string binds them, woven around their wrists as proof of their union. And yet, there’s an uneasiness within him as he thinks about how he knows nothing of Atsumu’s family besides the fact that he is looking for them.

He thinks about this when he accompanies Atsumu to court in the morning and when he’s left alone to wait until the sun sets. He thinks of it as he drinks the tea the court ladies brewed for him. He thinks of this as he pours over the books and scrolls that Atsumu said are his personal favourites.

He can read most words now, though with little ease. Oftentimes, Kiyoomi has to ask whoever accompanies him what certain words mean, but no longer are they just unconnected strokes on a page. Now he can see that the ink on the paper has a message it wants to bring across. Today, it is Bokuto who’s with him.

The silver haired man claims to be not much of a reader, more of a ‘doer’. Still, he seemed excited when Atsumu told him to accompany Kiyoomi today until nightfall. Bokuto chatters on in front of him over nothing in particular when Kiyoomi looks up from the page and asks,

“What does this word mean?” He points to the character in question.

Bokuto leans over the table, a knit in his brow before he grins widely. “It means ‘rain’. See how the rain falls in it, Kiyoomi-kun?”

He stares at it for a few moments, soaking in the picture before he nods. 

“So what does the whole thing mean?”

And Bokuto recites it for him. The words on the page in full bloom like the spring that’s drawing closer. He practices it on his own, feeling how he gets used to the curl of his tongue and the press of his lips. The words are pretty, he thinks. And he wants to have an occasion to say them to a certain someone soon.

At night, he’s at the gardens. The only trees that have been growing here are the black pines, leaves still green even in winter, though they’re covered in snow. The flowers that Atsumu showed him months before have long since wilted, now the flowerbeds are barren. For some reason it makes him feel a little uneasy so he turns around and heads to the pavilion instead.

The bamboo trees around him remind him of a certain time, a certain place. Kiyoomi remembers the younger version of himself who encountered a god between the trees. A few days after that incident with Atsumu, ten year old Kiyoomi trekked through the forest again, hoping to meet his saviour once more—that house, the meal, the warmth that covered him that night—but he couldn’t find them. Maybe he got lost but he remembers another encounter that confused him; he had found himself next to a cave. The darkness of that hole in the earth made a shiver run down his spine. And then he saw a pair eyes gleaming in the darkness, silver like a frozen sword on a blacksmith’s table.

Out came a fox from that hole, black in colour and smaller than the one he had met before. The fox looked at Kiyoomi strange then, as if registering him as another person. It didn’t growl nor come his way. It merely looked at him, observing him.

Stupidly, Kiyoomi asked, “Who are you?”

The fox opened its mouth as if to answer but then he heard a loud high-pitched sound from the distance. Kiyoomi knew of the dangers in the forest, besides the wild animals, there were also hunters from the village abound and mercenaries often used this path. It was periodic and chilling, something that resembled the sound of metal being sharpened against stone. His hands flew up to cover his ears, the scratching grating them to the point where he was sure he would bleed. 

And then the fox bolted away running right past him in what seemed like a gust of wind. When Kiyoomi turned around, the fox stood several yards away by a tree, craning its neck as if it was waiting to see if Kiyoomi would follow it.

Not having many options left, he followed that fox. They trekked down the mountain together, the sounds from before slowly getting muffled by the sounds of their own footsteps. At the threshold of the forest, the fox turned back around and disappeared before Kiyoomi could get another word in.

Kiyoomi now stands at the exit of the bamboo path, the pavilion in clear view and yet he can’t take another step forward. His feet stay planted on the ground, frozen as the snow that surrounds him. It’s cold and he’s never liked it. He freezes quite easily. He shouldn’t have stepped out.

Just as he’s about to go back inside, a hand catches onto his arm. He jumps.

And then he registers the hand. A warm hand. Kiyoomi turns to his side, he sees familiar amber eyes and a wide grin.

“There you are, Omi-kun!” Atsumu says. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Atsumu shakes his head. “No, don’t worry about that. It didn’t take long.” He pauses. “Is there a reason why you’re just standing here?”

The lake ahead is fully frozen now, and has been for the past few weeks. Kiyoomi has a suspicion that it’ll thaw soon. It’s only a matter of time, winter can’t last forever.

“I was just thinking about something that happened in the past,” he answers.

“Hm,” the other man hums. “I have those thoughts come to mind, too.” He laces his fingers with Kiyoomi’s and takes a step forward, walking towards the pavilion. Atsumu’s hand is bigger than his and he holds Kiyoomi as if he’s fragile, like he’s the same as a porcelain cup that holds his favourite tea. “See, this pavilion here was built quite some time ago, though it might not seem like it.”

Atsumu detaches himself and Kiyoomi watches as he places his hand on the wooden column.

“When I was much younger, I’d often play here with my brother. We used to drive everyone mad,” he laughs. He traces his fingers over the faded red fence. And then he turns to Kiyoomi, a faint smile on his face. “Come here.”

Once he’s beside him, Atsumu wipes away the snow on one part of the railing. There are two words written there. The first character is one that he knows, he’s written and said it many times now. 

_Atsumu._

It means ‘the urge to eat’.

But the one beside it causes him to furrow his brows. And when he looks up at Atsumu questioningly, the other man chuckles.

“That one says ‘Osamu’. It means ‘to govern’.”

There’s a shift in Atsumu’s body as he says this. The god turns towards the frozen lake in front of them, walking aimlessly towards the edge.

Kiyoomi refuses to tear his gaze away.

“What happened to him?” he asks. “Your brother.”

“A monster cut him down with his own sword. Till this day, I can’t forgive it.” His shoulders seem to tense and Kiyoomi watches the way his grip on the railing tightens. “I just miss him now.”

Atsumu’s body shakes and Kiyoomi rushes to his side. He places a hand on Atsumu’s back, slowly rubbing circles but he still doesn’t look at his face. And when Atsumu speaks again, his voice seems to crack.

“I’ve been quite lonely, you see.” He straightens up then, quickly rubbing his eyes and then he turns to Kiyoomi, a smile on his lips though his face still shines from the hint of frozen tears. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” Kiyoomi shakes his head.

Atsumu reaches out, placing the back of his fingers against Kiyoomi’s cheek. “I wish we could be like this in the sun so that you won’t have to turn to ice just to be with me.” He draws his hand back and lets it fall to his side. “We should go. I’ll brew some tea for us in the study.”

Kiyoomi feels his chest ache though he isn’t quite sure why. He feels like there should be more for him to do—he needs to comfort Atsumu but he doesn’t know how. He’s not very good at speaking, nor is he a person with bodily warmth. There’s nothing really for him to give.

But maybe what he needs to say are words that aren’t his. His mind goes back to the books of earlier in the day but he can’t seem to remember any of them at the moment. It’s frustrating to watch Atsumu’s back in front of him, less than an arms length away but oceans across.

“A-Atsumu,” he stutters before he can even think about what it is that he wants to say.

Atsumu turns around, a quirk in his brow but his attention on him nonetheless.

“I’ve lost family too,” he says almost breathlessly. It’s hard for him to push all the air out when it’s cold. But he needs Atsumu to listen to him. “And for a long time I’ve been lonely. But lately, I haven’t felt such feelings.”

Atsumu smiles though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Thank you for telling me. Though, I’m freezing now. We should hurry inside.”

That’s a lie, Kiyoomi knows. Because the imprint of Atsumu’s fingers on his cheek still burns.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Often there are whispers where there are people. Kiyoomi remembers many whispers when he was growing up. Half of them he wonders if they were even true but perhaps there’s some truth in it.

He thinks back to Atsumu’s words from last week, how a brother he grew up with was cut down. But Atsumu spoke as if his brother wasn’t dead.

 _I just miss him now,_ he had said as if he was waiting for a return. He’s looking for someone, isn’t he? He talked of his brother with only fondness.

Gods can’t die… right?

At least, Kiyoomi has never heard of it. Well, except once.

The story he heard was told over one summer that he worked in the fields. They were taking a break then, hidden under the shade of the small house at the edge of the crops. He let his leg hang over the engawa, and waited there to catch his breath. The work was hard but the benefits were decent, he supposed.

The landowner’s wife was sick. She was convinced that the land around them was cursed. Many afternoons would end in a ruckus, yells and scrutiny abound.

“This land used to have nothing,” she wailed on one hot day. The cicadas around them were an audience to this particular scene. “But then Inari flooded it into a marsh. The gods watch us all and yet we still send brides and grooms to them as a plea of help.”

“Sorry about this,” the landowner said to Kiyoomi, letting out a frustrated sigh. There was a pinch in his shoulder, tense like this was something he was used to. "She was healthy years ago. Sane. But after that time in the woods she gets into these fits sometimes—”

“They aren’t fits!” she screamed.

The late summer brought pests to the rice fields. At the edges of the paddies, Kiyoomi could see the red spider lilies. They were spindly and a terrifying thing to look at up close but Kiyoomi supposed there was some beauty in that, even though they were poisonous. These flowers littered the land from the river up to the house. Fall must have been near.

Her husband scoffed. “How about you tell him that crazy thing you said the other day? About this land being cursed.”

“It is.”

“Inari _blessed_ us with this marsh. And she’ll curse you for questioning her!”

“She curses us anyway!” Her long black hair trailed at her feet and Kiyoomi wondered why she didn’t just cut it. It was so hot and it wasn’t like she resembled any of the nobles who could afford such a luxury. The heat of summer made it expand in what could only be described as frizz. “Why would she flood the land where gods died?”

A silence.

And then,

“Gods can’t die! Are you crazy?” He threw his head back in belly-aching laughter

At the time, Kiyoomi thought she might have actually been crazy but now he wonders how much of it is true.

Atsumu said that he pushed his family away.

Atsumu said that a monster stabbed his brother.

Atsumu said that the person he did something terrible to doesn’t remember him.

_I just miss him now._

What Kiyoomi has learned since his arrival at the palace is that the people here often speak in riddles—saying unassuming words that have hidden meanings. Atsumu is no different.

Warm water trickles down his body as he sits knees to chest in the bath. Red petals floated over the water in front of him. A thought runs through his mind, bringing him back to the memory of poisonous red flowers. It’s sorrowful now that he really thinks about it. Because he remembers being told once that those are the flowers of death, ones that meet him at the shoreline of the Sanzu no Kawa.

But the petals that he now cups in his hands are not sinister like the ones that invade his mind, these are rose petals whose sweet smell wafts through the room of the bath.

Then there’s a rap on the door, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Kiyoomi-sama,” the court lady says, “Inari-sama says she will have dinner with you tonight.”

He tells her thanks and quickly gets out of the tub, drying his body and pulling on his robes and coat. Heavy as they are, Kiyoomi feels a little lightheaded. It might have been the bath or the smell of the room, but there’s a sense of ease that manages to crawl its way into his chest.

The way to the dining area is another criss cross of paths under canopies outside. It’s cold and Kiyoomi is a little nervous. Atsumu rarely asks to eat dinner with him. Most of the time, they meet after their bellies are full because Atsumu often eats while he works. So today must either be a day of importance or no significance. His boots sound loud over the courtyard stone. And then, the path in front of him stops and he’s greeted with steps.

There, under the moonlight and the many lanterns lit under the canopy is his husband, hair as golden as the lights that surround him.

Atsumu turns away from the moon and smiles at him.

Kiyoomi must have stopped breathing.

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu calls, the wind around them howls, blowing his golden locks in the current. “I’ve been waiting.”

It seems too simple, too easy, when Kiyoomi sits at the table opposite to Atsumu as the other chatters on about his day between bites, the words are empty, no deeper meaning behind them. Kiyoomi feels a little riddled.

He sets his chopsticks aside and looks at Atsumu dead on.

“Atsumu,” he says, trying to make his voice as flat as possible.

His husband looks up, chews and swallows the bite he had just taken. “Yes?” he blinks.

It’s now or never.

“I recognise that there are many things that I don’t know. But I want to.” His palms stay flat on his lap. He refuses to grip his knees for fear that he might shake. “There are thoughts racing through my mind, of which I can’t seem to coalesce.”

Atsumu nods and sets his own chopsticks down. He gestures with his hand, beckoning Kiyoomi to continue.

“You told me that you’re looking for someone, and I know that it’s definitely not me.” He lets out a breath. “And you told me that you were observing someone who doesn’t remember you, and you told me that you pushed your family away. When you spoke of your brother, it was as if you were waiting for his return. Is the person you’re looking for your brother?”

Atsumu looks at him now with an unreadable expression, one that reminds Kiyoomi of the days where he didn’t know that he and Inari were the same. It reminded him of the gaze Inari gave him before the fox would go back to ignoring his existence.

“Yes,” Atsumu whispered.

“There was a story I once heard years ago about a battle of gods.” _And a flooding of marshes and the sprouting of poisonous spider lilies._ “Gods can’t die, right?”

A scrape of a chair as Atsumu abruptly stands up. There’s a storm in his eyes, the honey turns cold like the bark of a tree in winter. He moves from the table to the railing, his hands grip on the wood so tightly that Kiyoomi feels like it might snap in half.

“Don’t ask me about that,” Atsumu’s voice is bitter in the night. Perhaps the winter winds finally got to him.

But Kiyoomi doesn’t want to relent. Not about this.

“Can gods die, Atsumu?” he asks again.

And Atsumu’s face snaps to him. He expected to see fury but instead, what he sees is defeat.

“You never listen, do you?”

“And didn’t you promise me that you would answer my questions?”

Atsumu shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “We can’t.”

“Then—”

“—Not really,” he cuts off. His shoulders droop again and he places a hand on the pole, leaning against it like his body might collapse from sheer recollection. “I thought he did at the time though, but then I realised that I was cursed.”

“Because you struck him?”

Atsumu’s eyes flit to him and then to nothing in particular. “Yes.”

Kiyoomi stands up too now but he doesn’t go to Atsumu. His feet keep stepping backwards on their own accord.

“Why did you do it?”

“He took my people from me. He closed their eyes so that they may never open. He gave them life when they were born and then took them away before their time—or before what I believed was their time. I thought that cruel. So I stuck his sword into his chest.” He laughed then, ice cold and bitter. “He was quite funny about that. He challenged me to and then punished me when I did exactly what he thought I would.

“It was only later that I realised such a curse befell me when I thought he was dead. Right before he died, his soul had left him already and then he split it into two. One in an animal and one in a human vessel. The human doesn’t hold memories, he stays in the mountains as an immortal—never to age or to die. I watch him sometimes. He goes about his day and never comes down the mountain.” He pauses before adding, “You’ve met him once.”

At this, Kiyoomi stops in his tracks. The house between the trees, the warm food, the bed he slept in that night and promptly forgot where to find again. He never expected this. “What needs to be done for your brother to remember?”

Atsumu sighs. “The fox and the human must meet. But the fox is lost somewhere in the woods too. Hundreds of years have passed and they haven’t crossed paths yet. Even _I_ haven’t met it. It eludes me, continuously. They must meet for my curse to be broken as well, for if they’re whole then so am I.

“You see, on that day, I didn’t just lose myself, I lost my brother as well. I lost my family and my best friend. I’m not even upset with him anymore. I just miss him.” He turns to Kiyoomi, sadness in his eyes. “I wish he would come home.”

Kiyoomi’s throat dries and his heartbeat quickens. He finds himself next to Atsumu now and places a hand on the one that Atsumu so tightly grips the railing. He threads his fingers in between the gaps.

“I have my regrets too, Atsumu. Fears as well.” He looks out to the open courtyard in front of them. Mostly empty tonight, save for stragglers. “My parents both drowned trying to save me. I often blamed myself for it.”

“Omi-kun, that one clearly isn’t your fault. It’s not the same as me—”

“Of course it’s not! But my sadness is the same.” He places a hand over his chest, gripping the fabric tightly. “The pain that I feel in my heart, that suffocates me like I’m drowning is the same. The dreams that haunt me are the same. Every night, I dream of loss; of my parents, of my friends and sometimes, of you.”

Atsumu stares at him, eyes wide. 

“When you told me that your brother died, I feared that you could too.” There are tears pricking his eyes now and his breaths are a little shallow. “I don’t want you to die, Atsumu.”

“Kiyo—”

He pulls his hand away, the nail coming up between his teeth. “I know I sound foolish, I’m begging like a child. But begging is something I’m accustomed to.”

And then, he hears a whisper, “I won’t die, Kiyoomi. Though, I fear that you will.”

Kiyoomi frowns.

“I’ve told you before. Humans die quite young. I wish to spend more time with you, if I can.” He smiles, it’s a little faint but it’s there.

“You speak as if I’ll die tomorrow.”

“I wonder what I’d do if you do.”

He sighs. "You can always find a new groom. I’m sure I can be replaced.” There’s a pang in his chest now, red hot jealousy as he imagines Atsumu holding someone else close, or teaching a stranger how to read, or directing that smile to someone Kiyoomi will never meet.

Atsumu shakes his head. “No, not quite. The beauty under the moonlight only blooms once a year.” Those flowers again—the ones that Atsumu promised they would see together in full bloom in the summer.

It’s so cold.

Kiyoomi squints. “You speak in riddles and it’s hard for me to understand sometimes.”

Atsumu laughs, the first laugh of tonight and something inside Kiyoomi uncoils, his body loosening.

“Then ask me. You can ask me anything.”

When Kiyoomi looks at him feebly, Atsumu nods as if reading his mind. He goes down the steps and leads Kiyoomi to the gardens opposite the courtyard. It’s white and the snow is going to melt.

Once they reach the black pine, Atsumu turns around.

“Is there anything else that’s bothering you?” he asks.

Kiyoomi looks away then, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yes,” he starts. And then he wonders how to continue. He must seem like a fool. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and then meets Atsumu’s gaze, he can’t falter now. “Is there a reason why you don’t do anything with me?”

Atsumu frowns. “What?”

Kiyoomi feels the colour rush to his face but he forces himself to continue through gritted teeth. “I feel like I’m being ignored. Many times now, you’ve stopped right before a kiss.” He pauses and then an insecurity rises up his throat. “Am I unattractive?”

Atsumu is handsome, the most handsome man Kiyoomi has ever laid eyes on. So much so that he feels inadequate at times, distressed even.

“What?” Atsumu splutters. He steps back, arms flailing in confusion, mouth ajar. “Why would you think that, Kiyoomi?”

Atsumu either doesn’t understand and pretends not to. Every time Kiyoomi tries to get closer, it feels like he’s inadvertently getting pushed away. 

“ _Politely / Do you love me or love me not?_ ” He holds Atsumu’s gaze, refusing to break it. “ _Is such a difficult question to ask._ ”

Atsumu’s face shifts, his lips part ever so slightly. His eyes seem to melt.

“ _The rain knows full well how I feel / And falls even harder._ ” He takes a deep breath, nails digging into his palms. “I don’t need the sunlight, Atsumu.”

Slowly, Atsumu steps into his space, the moonlight casts over his dark robes, the golden seams flickering as they catch the light. He hears the crunch of footsteps on snow and then he feels the soft pads of Atsumu’s fingertips on his neck.

“Have I been unfair to you again, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi sighs into the touch, a cloud forming around his mouth. “It seems like you already know.”

“I thought I was cherishing you…” he trails off, lip caught between teeth.

“Isn’t affection a way to show that someone is cherished?”

At this Atsumu stills, his eyes are blown wide in shock, his shoulders seem to stiffen. Colour rushes to his face, his skin turning a little red, clear even in the darkness. Because the moon unveils the thin layer of embarrassment that flushes his cheeks. 

And then Atsumu huffs out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders dispelling.

“Affection, huh? You’re right.”

Tentatively, Atsumu pulls him closer, the colour is still evident in his cheeks and Kiyoomi finds himself smiling. 

“You can run away,” Atsumu whispers.

“I don’t want to.” He gulps down the last of his anxieties to confess, “I want you.”

What he feels next is a soft pair of lips that presses against his own. Fingers thread through his hair, a hand lightly cups his cheek and Kiyoomi realises how his own hands are left dumbly by his side. He wraps his arms around Atsumu, their chests flush against each other and he feels an echo of a hammering heartbeat against him. When he feels a tongue slip past his lips, Kiyoomi can’t help the slight jump of surprise that has Atsumu smiling against him. Atsumu tastes sweet like honey, he smells of bamboo and the snow of late winter, he feels warm—his lips, his tongue, his hands—and Kiyoomi doesn’t want this moment to end.

But Atsumu pulls away too soon, eliciting a small whine from him but his mouth is still close enough that Kiyoomi feels the heat of his breath fanning his chin. His eyes are glowing, embers, sparks of a fire almost put out by the cold winter’s night but it stays alight.

“To answer your question,” he whispers, lips moving against his, “I _do_ love you. And it’s evergreen.”

Kiyoomi’s breath hitches, an ache in his chest and Atsumu leans in to nip at his jaw, trailing kisses up and down his neck and then his lips are by his ear.

“ _If it be so / Then so be it, I thought once, but / As white snow falling / With the passing day_ ,” he says in a low voice, pressing his mouth to Kiyoomi’s cheek. “ _My yearning grows even stronger._ ”

Kiyoomi’s grip on Atsumu’s back tightens and then he realises that he’s been panting heavily the entire time. Tears threaten to push through but he refuses to let them spill. Instead, he squeezes the man in his arms and buries his face in his shoulder.

“You’re my family, right?” he asks, voice muffled by Atsumu’s outer coat.

“Hm,” Atsumu hums in response. He can hear the smile. Warm, so warm. “And you are mine.”

A kiss to his temple and then a hand combs through his hair and Kiyoomi lets his eyes close to focus on the touch.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Winter turns into spring and so brings about changes that Kiyoomi could have never expected. Something is broken inside of Kiyoomi, that much is certain. It’s the only thing that can explain why he’s letting himself be pushed against the door as Atsumu kisses him furiously. He sighs into the kiss, hands threading lightly through the golden locks.

Ever since that night under the pine, they’ve been more… affectionate with each other.

“Atsumu,” he gasps, eyes tightly shut.

“Hm?” the other hums, fingers tracing his sides.

“Don’t you have to go soon?” He looks out the window, the purple sky turning pink.

Atsumu leans back to look at him, his hands still on Kiyoomi’s waist. “You’re right.” He nods, turning towards the light. “Will you be okay today?”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Of course. Though I didn’t think you’d be like this so early in the morning.”

Atsumu quirks up an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. He places a hand on his chin and tilts his head upwards as he says, “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who started it. I should’ve known that you’d be a fast learner.”

The heat creeps up Kiyoomi’s neck so fast that the only thing he can do is scoff and push Atsumu away.

“You’re a terrible influence,” he says without any bite. 

And Atsumu laughs, breathily as his eyes crinkle in the corners. “I like it,” he whispers as he reaches out a hand, brushing the stray hairs away from Kiyoomi’s forehead. “Allow me to be an influence.”

There’s an intimacy in being understood. It’s one born from the chance of meeting and the effort of learning. And Atsumu has taught him so much since the first time Kiyoomi has ever laid eyes on him. And he hopes that he’s taught him something in return, no matter how unlikely that is.

“Love, Omi-kun,” Atsumu had said the other night, the glow of the lantern on his cheek. The look in his eyes so warm as he continued, “is the most fickle of emotions, the most confusing of mazes, and the heaviest of life’s burdens.”

Kiyoomi set the brush down and looked up from the page where he had been copying down a poem. “Is it so heavy?” he asked, voice quiet.

Atsumu shook his head. “No, because there are two people to carry it.”

When Kiyoomi walks through the corridors later on, he stops in his tracks at the view outside.

Cherry blossoms.

The pink petals fall slowly from the branches like snow from clouds, but it’s infinitely warmer and somehow that makes them more excruciating. They’re beautiful in a way that makes him feel lonely.

His birthday is nearing.

A year older.

A year closer to crossing that river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the calm before... something. haha
> 
> sorry this is so fucking long, i got so carried away with... everything.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/atsumu_twt) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/atsumu_twt)


End file.
